


The Last Contract

by xantissa



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aliens, Angst, Body Horror, Breeding, Happy Ending, M/M, Magical Contracts, ancient dragons, deal involving sex, dragon!Bucky, sex as currency, themes including gender transformation and genitals (for more detailed warning see ending notes)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 19:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12711414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: The world was dying, at war for years with alien invaders who were slowly and methodically wiping out humanity. Steve’s hope for the future was nearly gone having fought a losing battle for so long. In what little free time he had, he looked for the dragon sleeping under an old castle that his mother had told him stories about. He knew it was just a fairytale, but at least it was something to do. He never expected to actually find a man locked in a cave filled with magic. Nor did he expect to agree to some strange bargain with him. Steve had expected him even less to actuallybe a dragon. In a world all but destroyed, can Steve survive the consequences of his own actions?





	The Last Contract

**Author's Note:**

> I have so many people to thank for help here.  
> First of all Quarra because she literally had rewrite some of the scenes to make them work as they should, and outright wrote others because I apparently suck at writing small children. She is the best. She literally saved this story. It would never have the shape it has now without her.  
> Second, my wonderful beta NurseDarry who betaed literally hours before the deadline because I am very, very bad at keeping to time it seems.  
> Third: all the people in Bucky’s Thighs chat who cheered me on during the writing of this story - thank you all, you are the best.  
> Also one of the most important people, Cleo4u2 that created the wonderful rhymes for me. Thank you honey!

Once upon a windless night  
A war began twixt dragons flight  
Black and gold, fought, flew, and died  
For nothing but a wounded pride

Death was brought to dragons golden  
Til all but one lay dead and broken  
A curse she laid as she breathed her last  
Justice for sins both present and past

Though victory was theirs that day  
Soon the black began to decay  
Each sin ate them from inside  
Til they too had all nearly died

Just one remained, their youngest male  
Though he knew his life too would fail  
Long he sought and far he flew  
Til all the world was new and bright  
There a woman he did find  
A sin eater, last of her kind

Though he begged and threatened her  
To his plight she did not stir  
Your evil is well know to me, she cried  
Why should I care if you died?

A promise then, the dragon swore  
Aid will be given to your line forever more  
Any dream or longing theirs to ask  
In return, just one small task

The sin eater should have refused  
Not knowing what she soon would loose  
Yet a dragon’s aid was too hard to ignore  
And her family very poor

Cutting flesh from the dragons limb  
She ate it and thus his sin  
Without its fuel, the magic lay frozen  
Too strong, however to be fully broken

A deal, then, the sin eater cried  
In this you cannot have lied  
We are tied, your blood is mine  
My children too, all my line

Agreed, the black said, voice cold as ice  
Ask what you will and pay my price  
To all your children the same will be  
Forever more, as we did agree

Thus the ties were bound  
Tween dragon and man, no other is found  
Yet beware the dragon and his deal  
The price too high, you will surely feel

by Cleo4u2

 

*

 

Steve sighed and leaned forward in the Quinjet’s seat, rubbing the grit out of his eyes. He was tired. The new cloaking device was working very well, hiding the plane not only from eyes on the ground, but also the sensors in Earth’s orbit. Tony had done good work, even as pressed for resources as they were these last years. 

Steve turned to look at the bench behind him and Tony lying on it, facing the metal wall of the plane. He was curled up under the patchy jacket, only his hair visible from Steve’s point of view. Steve’s gaze lingered on the grey streaked through the usually-black hair. Getting enough food to keep the camps of refugees they led was hard enough, the Quinjets only flying because of the mini ARC reactors Tony had created for them. Luxuries like hair dye hadn't been anywhere on the priority list for a very long time now.

Steve knew Tony wasn’t happy with him about this wild goose chase he’d dragged them on. It was a waste of resources, but the truth was they were dying. After over three years of fighting a losing battle against alien invaders, they were reduced to fighting a battle for survival. Even Avengers could do nothing against a well-organised, well-equipped army that counted in the hundreds of millions. The Rinarks came to Earth like a cloud of locusts, intent on stripping the planet of its most valuable resource - to them at least - the humans. That was their purpose. Not conquest, not the water or the land. They’d just wanted humans, and they’d got them. 

They culled cities, taking away millions of people in the first few months. After the largest cities had been destroyed, the Rinarks had directed their attention to the smaller ones. It was impossible to defend against the sheer scale of the attacks. Hundreds of cities had been hit at once, in such overwhelming numbers there was just no way to fight back. Without support, without resources, all the Avengers could do was find as many survivors and hide them in the temporary camps they’d organised. After trial and error they’d learned spreading out the camps, and keeping no more than 900 people in each, they could reliably hide from the scouts. Any group bigger than that was bound to be discovered and culled. 

To Steve, all he’d done for the last year-and-a-half was skulk in the shadows, trying to find and save as many survivors as possible. He’d thought WWII was bad, but this was so much worse. The Rinarks weren’t even that strong; they weren’t much stronger than humans. But the fact was there were a hundred Rinark soldiers for every human soldier, which meant they were bound to win eventually.

Glad that the man was sleeping for once, Steve looked from Tony to Nat. They saw each other so rarely, each looking after at least five camps. Supplies were the most critical issue, and they spent most of their time sneaking into destroyed cities in search of anything that could prove useful. Farming was impossible, not with scouts everywhere. Tony’s hydroponic farms and whatever they managed to scavenge kept them barely afloat, but hunger took its toll on all of them. Natasha was as beautiful as ever, even with the burn stretching from neck to left shoulder. The scarring was mostly hidden by her clothes but Steve could still remember her screams the day it had happened. 

Saving her was the last thing Clint had done. Steve knew Clint would be the first to fail, after the death of his family there just was something missing in the man. He did his best for a year, saving people, fighting the invaders, making them bleed for what they’d done, but eventually there was just too many of them. Natasha survived, but was never the same after. She became quieter, focused on her tasks, and somehow colder. She no longer made funny geeky quips or jokes. She just did her work to the very best of her ability. He watched as she flicked her fingers over displays, reading the data with pursed lips. The hunger had left its mark on her too, the jut of her collarbones under her shirt too pronounced to be absolutely healthy. 

“We are nearing the next set of coordinates,” she reported quietly, as unwilling to wake up Tony as him. The man needed all the rest he could get.

“Thank you,”

She sighed, turning towards him.

“It’s the tenth possible location.” Her voice was steady and gentle, but Steve could already guess what she was going to say. “I know you believe that story your mother told you, but I think enough is enough.” Her green eyes met his, cold and tired. “We don’t have the resources to spare for those trips. We don’t have the time. The hours spent flying to search the possible location all over the world could be better spent on resupply runs, or even on ambushing the Rinark outposts. This…? It’s a ridiculous dream, Steve.”

He couldn’t defend himself. The story his mother had told him was about an ancient dragon slumbering in its temple, a creature of great power that would agree to a contract only with women of certain bloodlines. Steve Rogers was not a woman, but he was of the correct bloodline. And if his mother’s fevered ramblings before she went to the hospital had even a grain of truth, he had to try. Maybe this quest was just a way of staying sane in the face of endless misery of the damaged survivors they’d collected, or the devastation of their cities, but what else did he have? 

Still, Natasha was right; she and Tony had helped as much as they could. Tony had managed to narrow down the possible locations from Steve’s fairy tale-like stories, and Natasha organised people and resources to cover for them while they were gone. In the back of his mind, Steve knew the two of them worried he might snap completely, which is why both of them went with him on those trips. But he was grateful nonetheless. He couldn't imagine dealing with the disappointment that swamped him every time the place they found was a bust.

“This one will be the last,” he assured her. He might still cling to the childhood stories, but he was still sane enough to understand that Natasha was right. They could no longer afford his fruitless searching.

Tony woke up when the plane lowered above the ruins of an almost forgotten castle in Ireland. In truth, it wasn’t anything more than remnants of walls and lots of stones scattered around, shrubs and grass taking over everything in sight.

“We there?” Tony asked roughly, sitting up and rubbing at his face. He looked tired, the lack of proper food and medical care hitting him the hardest as he didn't have the modifications to mitigate the damage.

“Yeah,” Steve confirmed getting up from his co-pilot seat and strapping on his shield.

Tony’s dark eyes flicked between Steve and Natasha, but he said nothing, just got up from his seat.

“Let’s do it,”

Natasha landed the plane with her usual skill, gently setting the machine down as Tony keyed in the limited AI to await their return. Northwest Ireland after sunset at the end of autumn was cold and windy as hell, the chill blowing across the bog and through their inadequate clothing. 

Tony grumbled as he closed his jacket more tightly over his chest. “Anybody know what we are looking for?” he whined

Steve made his way between the few stones scattered on the peat. Who would build on a peat bog? The scans showed nothing out of the ordinary, just old stone and… peat. No hidden passages, no underground caverns. Honestly, this looked to be just another forgotten ruin on his endless list of possible targets. Steve swallowed his disappointment and directed his steps in the opposite direction from Tony. 

“We’ll know it when we find it,” Steve called with more self assurance than he actually felt.

They walked in silence, this part a routine by now, searching the place in loose quadrants. By the time the first hour passed, Steve’s toes were numb from slipping on the loose shale or sliding in the mud, and his cheeks were burning from the wind. The silence was oppressive.

Tired and disappointed, he reached out his hand to the piece of wall that survived the merciless destruction time had wrought and braced himself. The moment his hand touched the old unremarkable stone, he felt as though he’d been been shocked by an electric current. His hand went numb, but not like his toes, and his heart lost its rhythm, churning painfully in his chest for long moments before stabilising. 

When he blinked his eyes open, not even sure when he’d closed them, Steve realised he was kneeling in front of the stone he’d touched. Only it wasn’t just a piece of broken wall anymore. It was an actual wall. Tall, made of dark grey smooth stone, it formed a shadowed entrance, a doorway. And in it, just before the view in front of him faded into darkness, Steve could see the first few stone steps leading downwards.

“Steve?” It was Natasha, standing beside him. Close enough to call his name, but far enough to do some damage with the gun she had in her hands. “Can you hear me Steve?” She still wasn’t coming closer, casting worried looks around. In the distance Steve could see Tony, his half-glove armed as he scanned the area for whatever it was that had put Steve on his knees.

“I’m,” he rasped, shocked at how wrong his voice sounded - dry and croaky. “I’m okay,” he reassured her, but Natasha’s green eyes looked worried.

“You were screaming,” she said, her voice still tight with worry. “For the last twenty minutes.”

He blinked at her, shocked. Twenty minutes? But he’d barely just touched the stone! He looked to his right, back to the doorway, shadowed and looming, and then to his left, at Nat, looking concerned but otherwise calm. The doorway was directly in her line of sight. Why wasn’t she even looking at it?

“The door,” he rasped, just now noticing how much his throat hurt.

She frowned at him.

“What door?” she asked, coming closer to him finally and circling him, looking at his face carefully. She was looking for injuries he realised. Steve stared, dumbfounded as Natasha stepped right into the doorway, her body ...phasing through the stone pillars. She knelt down, reaching for his face and trying to look into his eyes.

She couldn't see the doorway. She couldn’t touch it or interact with it in any way.

Steve reached out his hand, touching the smooth stone and dragging his hand over its face, which occupied the same space as Natasha’s leg. He stared, blinking as he shifted, her leg phasing through the stone again. The same stone he was touching, that he could feel the cold, rough texture of.

“You can't see it,” he wondered aloud, hand still touching the stone.

“See what?” It was Tony, his voice as concerned as Natasha’s, the subtle whine of his repulsors powering down coming on the heels of his words.

“The doorway,” Steve said, almost giddy with the slowly dawning realisation that he’s done it. He’d found the sacred place of his mother’s tales. The mythical place the dragon was sealed in. Something in Steve’s chest opened up and expanded, a hope he didn’t truly let take hold unfurling. “The doorway,” he repeated stupidly, eyes following the lines of the dark portal.

He struggled onto his feet, pulling Natasha away from the door, watching fascinated as she again passed through the stone pillar as if it wasn't there. With her safely on the other side of him, Steve reached out to touch both the pillars at the same time and laughed when his palms hit cold, hard stone. He pushed, testing their resistance, but the pillars didn't budge.

“Steve?” Tony’s voice was wary now.

“We found it!” he laughed. “I can't believe, we actually found it!”

He turned to face his friends and spread his arms, a wild grin on his face. 

“We did it!”

Tony and Natasha looked at him, sceptical and wary, and Steve made an effort to tone down his excitement lest he look like a madman.

“There’s a doorway, and steps leading down. I think I’m the only one who can see it because I’m from the correct bloodline.”

Tony’s lips twisted into an ugly little grimace, unhappy whenever any mention of magic was made. Natasha was impassive. 

“You want to go through the door, don’t you?” Natasha asked, her fingers white on the grip of her gun.

Steve blinked at her, mind too busy considering all the possibilities to truly consider how terrifying this must be for her and Tony.

“It’s what we came here for.” He turned to look at the doorway again. “I have to try, I have to see what’s in there. In my family’s stories it was a dragon, but it can be anything, a weapon maybe? I need to see.”

Tony looked grim as he threw the comm at him.

“At least try to keep in contact,” he said in a defeated tone of voice. If they couldn't see the doorway, there was a good chance communications devices wouldn’t work on the other side.

Steve turned to the door. Really, they shouldn’t be so worried. This was merely a doorway. None of the stories warned against the place itself. It was supposedly made by his ancestors. It couldn’t possibly be made to hurt one of their own.

“Yeah,” he said almost absently, unable to take his eyes away from the door.

Just one step and he was standing inside the shadowed alcove, a long and deep staircase stretching in front of him. When he turned to look over his shoulder, Steve could still see Tony and Nat staring after him with identical worried expressions. He turned back towards the stair, made from rough stone just like the pillars. From the outside the place looked completely dark inside, but once he was in, it wasn't so bad. The steps led down deeper than he’d thought at the beginning, but there was just enough ambient light for him to see where to put his feet as he descended.

Maybe three minutes passed as he arrived at the bottom of the stairs. The staircase opened into a large, completely dark cave. Steve could smell the pervasive scent of damp and peat, the smell of water in the air, but couldn't see anything besides a single raised pedestal with something that looked like a flower carved from stone resting on it. The flower had eight petals around it, and from the the middle protruded a thin stone spike.

Another story his mother had told him on those long nights when he was fighting sickness and fever was that it was their blood that opened the door, and it was their blood that sealed the contract.

He pressed his palm to the flower, feeling the spike pierce the skin of his palm. The pain was mild, but the wound burned oddly. He watched, strangely removed, as his blood ran down the spike to splatter on the carved petals of the flower beneath. With each drop of blood that hit the petals, the stone became lighter, whiter, emanating a sort of cold, eerie light that intensified with each drop until he had to turn his face away. White spots danced in front of his eyes and he had to pull his hand away, the light too powerful to bear. He covered his eyes and waited.

Even through his closed eyes Steve could tell something had changed. When he blinked them open again, he could see that the whole cavern was lit by a series of carved effigies hung on the walls, the stone white and shining the cold light that hurt his eyes. When he looked at the pedestal, he saw that the flower was a pristine white and the spike was clean, no sign of blood anywhere on it. Confused, he looked at his palm. The wound wasn't big, but definitely there, blood still oozing sluggishly while his body tried to heal the damage as fast as possible.

There was a noise behind him, a clink of what sounded like chains, and he turned.

In the darkest corner, by the farthest wall of the large cavern, sat a hunched figure surrounded by dark shimmering chains. Steve couldn’t see much besides the dark shape of a vaguely humanoid creature hunched down close to the ground. The chains were so thick around the figure, they distorted its shape. Steve came closer, heart pounding and mouth dry, his mother’s rhymes rattling in his brain. He licked his chapped lips, eyes adjusting to the strange light and the shadows, giving Steve more detail. He could see it was a man crouched on the ground. 

He was naked, skin dark with dirt and strange shadows that Steve instinctively knew were not dirt. They kept shifting and twitching, crawling over the naked skin. A lot of naked skin. This man was big, maybe as big as Steve, with muscles and scars all over his body.

He was kneeling, legs folded under himself, and pierced through with a spike of what looked to Steve like stone. The wound was dirty, barely bleeding, the thick spike running clean through the upper thigh and the lower leg, embedding deeply into the stone floor. The man’s broad scarred chest was stretched and, his arms pulled to the sides, pinned to the stone wall behind him, much the same way his legs were pinned to the ground. The stone spikes were driven mercilessly into all available flesh. Each of the spikes ended with a shimmering chain that stretched out into the darkness. It looked like terrible overkill; spikes through the man’s upper and lower arms, even his palms. There was blood, but not much of it, just a few drops here and there escaping the cruel wounds. Steve would have wondered if the man was even alive if it was hadn’t been for the fact Steve could see the chest rise and fall in even breaths, could hear the clang-clang of the chains rattling against each other, could hear the faint, raspy breathing.

The man’s hair was dark, maybe dark brown, and long. The way his head was hanging meant the his hair was completely obscuring his face. For some reason, Steve had expected the hair to be longer the than the vaguely shoulder length he saw.

“Uh...” Steve swallowed, lost at what to actually do now that he’d found the thing he’d been searching for. A big part of him was convinced this might be a dream or a hallucination, in reality he was just dozing in the pilot's chair in the Quinjet, or in his bunk at the latest refugee camp. “Can you hear me?” What did one say to… What was it? A man? Steve highly doubted it, no matter what it looked like. His had mom claimed the legends were over a thousand years old. No man could live that long.

The figure didn't move, other than to continue with the quiet steady breathing.

Steve licked his lips and came closer, stopping just shy of touching the bound figure.

“I’m here to make a pact.” Still no reaction. 

Language.

Steve blinked and swallowed back the urge to groan. He was using the wrong language. The problem was, he didn’t _know_ the right language.

He reached out his hand to touch that lowered head, fingers just brushing the surprisingly soft hair, when the bound man lunged at Steve with a sharp clang of chains. Steve jumped back in startlement, biting his tongue painfully. His heart beat like mad, and he fought the urge to laugh at himself. The man was bound to within an inch of his life, he couldn’t hurt Steve. There was no reason to be as on edge as a startled hare. 

The new position granted him the first look at the man’s face, which was now tilted up in defiance, the hair parting to allow Steve to see the surprisingly handsome features: soft, wide lips, straight nose, and large, ice blue eyes with vertical pupils. In the man’s open mouth he could see a row of inhumanly sharp teeth. He was beautifully handsome in a disturbing, almost animalistic way.

One of his mother’s rhymes rattled through Steve’s head:

_A dragon’s deal, for you to weigh_  
Blood to stone, to show the way  
Blood to blood, both must pay  
A pact struck, a bargain prayed 

It wasn’t the full rhyme, there were so many he often mixed them up in his head, but this time Steve was sure there was more to this one. It didn't matter. As he ran though the words in his head again, Steve remembered the word he was looking for.

“Granthiss” he said, coming closer to the man staring at him. The word _hurt_. It dragged at his throat, tore at Steve’s chest. He felt as though he’d spat out a ball of barbed wire, not said a single word. 

The reaction was a bit more than he expected. As soon as the last painful syllable left his mouth, the chains and the stone spikes disappeared - just melted into nothingness - leaving behind wounds that were healing at a rate even Steve wasn’t capable of.

“Granthiss” the man echoed, raw and dry like crumbling rock. He reached one scarred hand, slowly enough for Steve to move away if he wanted to. 

Steve kept still as the strong dry fingers caught his hand and raised it to the lush mouth. Steve watched, mesmerised as the man opened his mouth, sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light before he bit down. No hesitation, just teeth breaking skin and sinking into flesh. Steve hissed even as he saw the blood well up in the bite, and watched the man lap it up, slit eyes observing Steve the whole time.

His palm stopped bleeding soon enough, the serum working on closing the wound. It hurt though, pain pulsing in time with his heart, radiating up to his wrist, elbow, through his entire arm until it nestled in his chest, making breathing difficult.

The man stood up, muscular legs straightening as if they hadn’t been pinned to the ground for unknown years, powerful body just an inch shorter than Steve’s. The strange cold, slit-pupiled eyes never left Steve’s own. As much as he tried, Steve couldn't understand the look in them, the odd pupil throwing everything out of context, making him feel lost and mesmerised at the same time.

He watched as the man bit his own hand, deep enough that skin and muscle parted under his sharp teeth and blood spurted copiously, before extending the damaged hand to Steve’s mouth.

The full rhyme came to Steve then, the last verses sounding in his ears with his mother’s soft voice.

_A dragon’s deal, for you to weigh_  
Blood to stone, to show the way  
Blood to blood; both must pay  
A pact struck, a bargain prayed  
In return, a child made  
In return, a child betrayed 

He reached for the wrist, stilling the arm. His mother’s songs were full of dark messages. They told stories of sin, of cursed flesh, of paying the price for one person's desire for power. But they also spoke of power beyond imagination, power that made the old gods tremble, and look away from this world as if it no longer belonged to them.

He put his lips to the wound, sealing a contract he knew he could not fulfill.

*

Steve couldn’t sleep, couldn’t do anything but pretend he wasn’t using every trick he knew to watch the… dragon? Man? He had no idea what it was that he’d made a deal with, he was only sure he had made a deal. There was a hook under his heart now, a tug that held in itself unbelievable potential. His mother’s songs or not, Steve would have known this was something exceptional.

He looked at the dark windscreen, watching the reflection of the dragon. He wasn’t completely naked any more, Tony and Natasha refusing to travel in the company of a completely naked man. No matter that he didn't seem to mind his state of undress or even to be aware of it. The man now wore Tony’s emergency sweats, the ones with two holes on the left knee. He was still barefoot, his chest bare too. The artificial light in the Quinjet only served to highlight his powerful build, muscles stretching his skin, flexing with every move. 

Not that he moved much. The dragon seemed content just sitting on the bench Steve had directed him to, the slit pupiled eyes quickly looking over the interior of the plane, Steve, Tony, and Natasha. Natasha sat directly across from the dragon, watching him with an impassive face, guns resting on her knees. The dragon didn’t seem threatened by her. Nor did he seem threatened by the obvious signs of technology all around him, his nakedness, and seeming vulnerability. Indeed, aside from cursory glances, he did his best to ignore both Natasha and Tony, reacting only to Steve. 

He said nothing, answered no questions, made no sound at all beyond the single word that had kicked off their contract. Yet he seemed to understand Steve up to a certain point. When Steve had asked him to follow, he did. When Steve asked him to get into the plane and sit down on the bench, he had, without fumbling or being confused. He had very clearly understood what Steve wanted him to do, but at the same time didn't seem to feel the need to communicate. 

“I hate magic,” Tony grumbled under his nose as he stabbed his fingers with unnecessary force into the laser keyboard displayed on the empty section of the cockpit. “And I can't actually believe you found some guy in a fucking magic hole,” Tony rubbed his eyes with the balls of his hands, “and I can’t believe I said that.”

“It’s okay,” Steve said, feeling more than a little shaky himself. Mostly, what he had done in that place only he could see didn't quite compute. “I can’t believe all that actually happened either.” 

“Yeah, and what exactly did happen? Do you even know? You came back with this deranged, naked g--” The sound of shrieking alarms interrupted whatever Tony intended to say next. “It’s the camp,” he said instead, fingers flying over the keyboard. “It’s…” he trailed off, already-pale skin losing what little color it had, the permanent bags under his eyes gaining a new dimension. 

“They’re being attacked?” Steve asked, lunging out of his seat for his shield. They couldn't risk the plane, too few were left to use them for combat. But if Tony flew high enough, and wearing all his camouflage, Steve could jump out and help fight on the ground.

He paused. Tony wasn’t responding. Wasn’t doing anything but staring at the rapidly scrolling information on the screen.

“Tony?”

Tony opened his mouth but said nothing, letting his jaw hang loose. Steve’s fingers clenched on the edge of his shield so hard it hurt. “Tony?” he whispered, suddenly afraid of the answer.

Natasha was a red blur as she passed him, put one hand on Tony’s shoulder and leaned forward to read. Her face became pale too, and her fingers white where they gripped Tony’s shoulder.

“Nat?” Steve asked in a whisper.

“The Rinarks attacked three hours ago,” Natasha said, voice ruthlessly controlled. “The camp AI sent the last report half an hour ago. Defenses breached, the whole camp culled. The Rinarks are now in the process of dismantling whatever technology we have left there, probably in the hopes of finally breaking through Tony’s encryption.”

Dizzying guilt hit Steve. Reaching out a hand to steady himself on the nearest panel, Steve sank down onto the bench, the same bench currently occupied by the dragon. If Steve hadn’t gone on this insane adventure, if he hadn’t gone in search of a fairy tale, he would have been here in the camp, _protecting_ it. He could have made a difference, would have seen the scouts, would have done something to prevent the senseless slaughter. Nine hundred people, more than half of them women and children. All gone, possibly dead, definitely wishing they were dead.

He felt nauseous.

Tony and Natasha were speaking, their words ringing oddly in Steve’s ears, senseless and meaningless, as faces and voices he’d grown to know flashed across his mind. His stomach rolled and his chest hurt, the loss overwhelming. Another failure, another useless loss… There was a tug in his chest. Once. Twice. 

A question.

He looked up to see the slit-pupiled pale blue eyes staring at him, waiting.

“I want them dead,” Steve said, tasting salt on his lips. His throat hurt, his whole body hurt, and in that moment he felt nothing but rage, endless bitter rage at the terrible unfairness of this war, this world he was forced to live in. “I want them all dead. Every single Rinark that took part in this atrocity, I want them _dead_.”

Steve turned to Tony, eyes blurry. “Open the hatch,” he rasped, getting up. He would go to the ground and he would make them pay.

“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s at least a whole regiment down there. You can't defeat them all,” Natasha snapped, her voice cold as ice. “You’ve tried already.” She looked down at her hands. “We’ve all tried already.”

“I can’t just--” Steve’s words were interrupted, much like Tony’s had been earlier but the shriek of an alarm. This one was internal. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Tony yelled, and Steve turned to see the man he’d brought on board standing in front of the slowly opening hatch. His bare feet were steady on the dark grey metal floor, and his hair whipped around in the sudden wind. His back looked wide and powerful as he stood there very clearly waiting for the hatch to open. As soon as the gap was wide enough, the man just stepped off, not even looking back. Not hesitating. He just dropped like a stone.

Steve wasn't thinking right, he couldn't in the face of the tragedy, so he jerked forward, ready to go after the man, ready to save him when the floor under his feet rolled. He skidded sideways, bouncing painfully off the wall, and barely avoided splitting his head open on the metal bench. When he looked back he saw Natasha clinging to a handle and Tony, a grim twist to his eyes, forcing the plane into a tight roll.

“We’ve lost too many people today,” Tony said, eyes dark and set, “I’m not losing anymore.”

“Let me go after him Tony! I need to--” Again, his words were interrupted by a cacophony of shrieking alarms as the plane rolled, this time not directed by Tony’s hand. When Tony managed to regain control of the plane, Steve lunged for the copilot seat he’d vacated just a little earlier.

“Are we being shot at?” he yelled, throwing himself into the chair, hip striking the metal armrest painfully.

“No,” Tony answered, eyes wide as he gestured to the windscreen. The image from the cameras around the hull flickered into life. Their Quinjet was marked as a small black dot in the sea of… metal. 

Scales?

All around them were scales; ever shifting and glimmering with the cold shine of nearly-polished steel. They were huge and jagged, each the size of a freaking car. As the scales moved, Steve realised they were attached to flesh, coils upon enormous coils of flesh unfolding all around them. The scales obscured the sky and the ground, so big they couldn't possibly belong to a living creature. Yet as he watched, the coils unfolded, sorting themselves into a definite pattern. The body was easily as long as the leviathans that had carried Chitauri warriors to New York during the attack years ago. But this was far more graceful. 

Positioned at even distances along the staggering length were pairs of wings, as scaly as the rest of the thing, but at the same time almost leathery in looks. There were six of them, each pointed joint ending in curved claws, the whole body bristling with sharp scales. There were... paws, too. Those in the back were short and impressively muscular, each culminating with an assortment of gleaming claws. The front paws were shorter but no less muscular. Each one was the size of a small building, and held even more claws than those at the back. 

The long, almost sinuous body was so clearly made for war, made for battle that it took Steve’s breath away. The head was almost beautiful compared to the strangely long body. Horned, with thickly armored eyebrow ridges protecting vulnerable eyes, it ended in a long snout. There were long whiskers growing from the end, floating in the air as if weightless. Long fangs peeked out between the jaws, as metallic looking as the rest of the dragon. Somehow Steve had expected it to look more like how western world might think a dragon should, but this one could have been taken straight from Chinese legend. 

Only larger. 

So much larger.

The dragon straightened and beat all six of its wings, sending the Quinjet into a spin again. This time Steve was ready, holding tight onto the armrests, trusting Tony to straighten them out.

“Holy…” Tony said, watching with wide eyes as the dragon opened his jaws, showing an array of wickedly long fangs. White clouds blew from it, steam maybe. Steve half-expected it to breathe fire now, baffled and terrified by the turn of events. “Shit!” Tony pointed the plane’s nose up and engaged all thrusters as the klaxons started screaming again. “Shit shit shit, whatever he’s doing we have to get out of range!”

As fast as the Quinjet was, Steve could swear they got singed a little as the dragon flamed. Not fire, as Steve giddily expected, but light. White and freezing cold, so bright it blinded him for long moments afterwards. Blue artefacts danced in his vision even after he blinked his eyes open.

Where there used to be a small hill and at least twenty Rinarks heavy tanks, there was now… nothing. Nothing but black, frozen earth. Everything was gone. The machines, the trees, the grass. Nothing was left but glass-like ice.

As they watched in mesmerised horror, the dragon shifted again, floating lazily through the air like a hot air balloon and not a creature that _was too big to ever fly_. It coiled and then shot down, falling down like a stone, clawed paws first. It hit the ground hard enough they could see the shockwave from where they were hovering, how it upended trees and the ruins of buildings, long since destroyed.

Rinarks were well organised and well equipment, which was why fighting them was so difficult, so it wasn’t a surprise to see them mobilising their small aircrafts under less than a minute. The supersonic fighters were rising up from behind the next hill, their energy weapons firing at the dragon in a barrage. But they were were so small in comparison, barely bigger than a single scale. Unsurprisingly their shots harmlessly bounced off the armor as the dragon twisted preternaturally, its long winding tail whipping through the air and swatting them like flies. It beat its wings and lunged at what planes survived the first attack. 

“My god,” Natasha breathed somewhere above him.

It occurred to Steve that he’d never expected the hypothetical dragon to be quite this big, nor this powerful. How in heaven was he supposed to control it? And what would happen when it learned that Steve had made this bargain under false pretenses?

Had he just exchanged one terror for another?

*

When the dust settled, instead of an enormous dragon, the barefoot man stood in the midst of the devastated army. Tony’s lips were pursed in a tight unhappy frown as he started lowering the Quinjet down for Steve. The opportunities this could bring for them with that kind of power at their disposal were unquestionable. The dragon had decimated a whole regiment in minutes, crushed tanks and flying ships with the same ease. The counterattacks had not even bothered him, much less actually hurt. They could… turn the tide of this whole war with the dragon on their side.

But the problem remained of the dragon itself. The deal Steve had made with him would have been, well not easy, but safer had Steve been a woman.

But he wasn’t.

He couldn’t fulfill his part of the bargain. The fact that the dragon had made the deal with him at all suggested that it didn't actually know the difference between a human male and a human female. It had taken a male humanoid form when not in its (his?) true mind-bending form, but Steve wasn’t sure how much conscious choice there had been to do that. Maybe he was just emulating something, maybe it was a conscious choice. Steve couldn’t know.

“Steve,” Natasha sounded worried but already resigned, “are you sure you want to go to him alone?”

“I’ve told you all the stories I’d remembered. You know what the deal requires. I would rather have some privacy,”

“But what happens if and when he sees you naked and figures out you’re not a woman?”

Steve rubbed at the already-healed place where the bite had been.

“The fact he even made that deal with me means he probably doesn't understand human genders.”

“Yeah,” she agreed in that way of hers that meant she was already ten steps ahead. “But what about the time when he does figure it out? Because he will, we’re never that lucky.”

Steve huffed out a silent laugh, no they were never that lucky.

“I’m guessing we have a little time, a few weeks at least. We’ll just have to figure something out.”

“Figure something out,” Tony echoed, sounding hollow and bitter.

Steve didn’t look at him, unwilling to see the expression on his friend’s face.

The plane was low enough Steve could jump off comfortably, landing feet-first on the frozen ground. A hard shock travelled up through his knees as he landed, not expecting as much resistance. When he straightened and turned to the shirtless man watching him, Steve was struck again by how handsome he was. Sharply defined jaw, high cheekbones, straight nose… between his handsome face and the body of a warrior, this dragon in human form made for a very enticing package. 

Steve wondered why, what for? His eyes were very pale, the blue almost lost in the paleness of the whites of his eyes. The vertical pupils were slitted into the thinnest line, and pointed at Steve. There was no sign of threat in the man’s face, no obvious excitement, but Steve could almost sense the anticipation pouring off of him. 

He licked his lips, dry and a little cracked from the overly-purified air in the Quinjet, and came closer to the man.

“Thank you,” Steve said as soon as he was in arm's reach. As terrifying and unexpected as it had been to watch the dragon annihilate the Rinarks, it was _exactly_ what Steve had wanted. The attack had been so perfectly carried out according to his wishes, that Steve wondered if the dragon responded to his words or to his intent? 

“Granthiss?” There was a lilt at the end of the word this time, the rough gravel of the dragon's voice indicating something close to a question. In a way, Steve realised, the dragon was being _considerate_ of Steve. Considering what he must have been used to, and the single rule of the contract, it was his right to just take what was promised to him. He didn't have to ask.

Steve smiled, his fear of what was coming pushed down momentarily by the perfect manners of a creature that wasn't even human.

“Yes,” he nodded, not wanting the dragon to think he was shirking his part of the deal. “not here though.” He scuffed his boot over the frozen devastated earth. The dragon stood barefoot on the jagged pieces but wasn't showing any signs of discomfort. “I saw something that looked like a shed or a barn half a mile that way.” He pointed west. Away from the remnants of the refugee camp Tony and Natasha were about to investigate. “Can we go there?”

The dragon watched him for a long minute, his eyes unblinking. Steve wondered what was going on behind those eyes, how much he understood of what was going on. He remembered the way the dragon had studied the inside of the Quinjet on their way back. The man must have been very perceptive; even after seeing it only once he’d managed to figure out how to open the hatch. He had gleaned an understanding of the connection between the button Natasha had pressed as they boarded, and the hatch closing after them.

The dragon nodded and started moving in the direction Steve indicated, bare feet never slipping on the frozen earth. Steve’s feet hurt just watching this.

“Do you have a name I could call you?” Steve risked a question, carefully picking his way through the overturned slippery earth that was just starting to thaw in the autumn air. The further they got from the main blast, the softer and less destroyed the ground was. The dragon’s attacks were devastating, but thankfully fairly concise.

The dragon turned his head towards Steve, his pale blue eyes watching intently. There were strands of brown hair being tossed by the chilly wind, floating in front of his face, but he didn't seem to mind. Steve would have gone mad with all that hair constantly getting into his face.

The dragon opened his mouth and… made a sound. It was long and painful to Steve’s ears. Steve knew half a dozen languages well enough to communicate, but he couldn't even wrap his tongue around most of those sounds. There were a few sounds he recognized, and tried to put them together in any way that would allow him to voice them.

“Buc-ky?” he managed finally after a few unsuccessful attempts that only made his throat feel raw. This was a name closest to containing at least some of the sounds he’d heard in the dragon's name.

The dragon tilted his head to the side, regarding Steve with an expression he couldn't name. 

“Can I call you Bucky?”

A slow blink was all he got in response, but Steve decided that since the dragon wasn’t protesting, he was allowed to call him Bucky.

The building was in fact a barn, or what Steve imagined a barn would be. One wall had been destroyed, the damaged edges of the metal sheeting rusted over indicating whatever had happened took place earlier and not in the recent skirmish. 

There were plastic barrels stacked up against the longer wall, and a small mound of bags of what Steve suspected was some kind of animal feed. Against the end of the building stood a few bales of straw, a little mouldy now after having been left unattended and exposed to the elements for so long.

As he walked deeper into the barn, the awkwardness of situation hit Steve again. The dragon now kept close to him, close enough Steve could smell him, could feel the heat of his body. He knew what was going to happen here was non-negotiable. The dragon had “signed” the deal in good faith, and what is more, had already delivered his part of the bargain. It was Steve’s turn now.

He stopped, kicked off his shoes and unbuckled his pants, pushing them down before he thought himself into a panic. The air was unpleasantly cold against his bare legs, and the straw scattered around the ground crunched dryly under his bare feet. He grimaced at the feeling. He had no idea how the dragon could go without shoes and not complain.

“Granthiss?” the gravely voice was loud after so much silence and made Steve jump slightly.

“Yes,” he confirmed, turning to face the dragon. Bucky. He needed to remember that. That he could use a name. 

There were hands on his hips now, right over his shirt where hang over them. The hands were very warm, their grip careful but firm, pushing Steve back until he fell against the stacked bales. The straw crunched under his weight, the dry stalks scratching at his bare legs. Steve could smell dust and a hint of mold in the air, as well as the advancing frost. Bucky pushed between his legs, strange eyes flicking over Steve’s body. Steve could see the bulge in his sweatpants and it occurred to him that this was really going to happen, right now.

He bit his lip and shifted his legs, giving Bucky space to come closer. The soft cloth of the sweatpants rubbed over the sensitive insides of his thighs, making Steve painfully aware of his partial nudity. When Bucky was close enough, he tugged at his pants, and Steve reached to help before he ripped the cotton apart. He couldn’t tell how well Bucky would manage with things like clothes and the painful truth was finding spares was no longer so easy after years on the run. 

Steve carefully pushed down the waistband until he had it past Bucky’s hips. This left his cock exposed and clear to see. It was fully erect, intimidatingly large, but looked perfectly normal and proportional to the man’s frame. It was wet too, very wet. The slick dripping down from the firm, purple head was thick and plentiful, much more than anything Steve could expect from a human man’s cock.

He wasn’t given more time to look, and none at all to explore as Bucky reached for his hips again, tugging him closer to the edge of the bale he was lying on, and Steve felt the first press of flesh against him. It was slick and hot, sliding against his thigh, then his perineum. On the second thrust the cockhead caught against his hole, and Bucky made a quiet little sound as he shifted position and pushed inside.

Steve clenched his jaw to stifle any sound. It hurt. Granted the pain wasn't as acute as some of the injuries he’d suffered in the past, but it was where he definitely wasn’t used to it. He could tell that Bucky wasn’t trying to hurt him on purpose. He moved steadily but slowly, pushing in with an even kind of force that was forgivable enough for Steve to breathe through it. The slick Bucky seemed to produce naturally helped immensely, making everything slippery. 

Steve looked into the alien eyes, into the stunningly human face that held none of human emotions he could recognize, and panic seized him. What was he doing? What in the name of god had he gotten himself into this time? The anxiety coupled with the pain was bad enough that a grunt found its way between his clenched teeth, and he grabbed Bucky’s arm, the muscle standing out in sharp relief against. Steve dug his fingers in.

“Wait,” he grunted out. “Stop.”

The alien eyes focused on his, the pupils just barely more than slivers, but the dragon stilled his movements.

Steve breathed out. The intrusion wasn’t as painful as the motion was. He relaxed slightly. Steve could tell he’d torn around the intrusion, could smell a hint of copper in the air, but his enhanced body was on it already, healing him right around the cock inside him. _Making them a perfect fit_ , he thought wildly and shifted. He hooked his thigh over Bucky’s hip, trying to regain a sense of control, trying to remind himself that he was the one who’d chosen this. Even if he was in pain now, Steve was the one to have offered the deal, the one to lie to the dragon. 

Bucky shifted, one arm resting against the tightly packed straw, the other still on Steve’s hip. Steve couldn’t help but think of that touch, so hot but at the same time so careful. He was sure that even with his enhanced strength, Steve was no match against the dragon. Yet he was careful of Steve.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, when he realised the pain had subsided. He tightened his leg around the firm hip and nudged Bucky back into movement. “You can move again.”

And Bucky did move. Steady and strong, he started those deep thrusts again, chasing his goal relentlessly. Steve stared as the pale skin gained warmth, gained a bit of a flush. Watched as the slit pupils expanded slowly, becoming soft ovals and beads of sweat gathered at Bucky’s hairline. He pushed sharply against Steve and grunted, the first real sound he’d made and then Steve could feel him coming inside him. The twitch of his cock, the warmth of his release - it was an oddly pleasant sensation. With the pain all but gone, Steve’s ridiculous body perfect even for this purpose, Steve realised he didn’t hate the sensation.

He looked up at Bucky, expecting him to pull out since he’d finished, but instead the dragon just braced his other hand hand beside Steve’s head and started _again_. He didn't get soft for a second, didn’t need a break for a moment. Was ready to continue as if he hadn’t just come seconds ago. Steve wrapped his hand around the muscular forearms braced beside his head, needing something to hold on to. His nose was full of Bucky’s scent now, his sweat, his musk, the cold smell of ice. He tightened his legs around Bucky, exhaling long and slow. The stretch of the cock inside him, the heaviness of it was intimate, intense, had potential to be pleasurable even. There was something very alluring in the power of Bucky’s frame, the way he was handling Steve, both gentle and ruthless.

By the time Steve’s big body couldn’t stand much more, Bucky had come four, maybe five times. It was hard to keep track, oversensitive and aching, his thighs wet with slick and come leaking out of him, sore from the unfamiliar position of wrapping his legs around another man’s hips. 

“Enough,” he gasped, twisting under the large, sweaty frame and pushing an open palm against the flushed chest. It was like pushing at a mountain, no give at all. “Stop, I can’t anymore.”

He didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t for the man to still so quickly, so easily, as if his drive to fuck and breed Steve was something that could be turned off like a switch.

Bucky watched him with slightly dilated pupils for long seconds, his chest rising with his fast breaths and face flushed. He pulled out. He moved as steadily as he had with fucking Steve, pulling out slow enough not hurt Steve but enough to make Steve really feel it. The sound he made when he pulled out of Steve was a little obscene, a wet slurp that made Steve blush. He then blushed harder at his own ridiculousness. He was fine getting furcked for god knows how long, but the sound and feel of Bucky made pulling out of him caused him to blush?

Steve sat up, forcing Bucky to back away, and he groaned at the ache in his ass. It felt… loose and wet, used in a way Steve was singularly unaccustomed to. His thighs ached from keeping the unfamiliar position. He groaned again when the thought about the trek back to the camp in his condition.

“Uh, can you pass me my clothes?” He pointed at the pants and underwear lying in a heap on the dirty floor. “Please?”

Bucky looked at him, the signs of arousal rapidly fading from his body. He fixed his clothes when Steve wasn’t looking, now again covered by the old sweats riding low on his hips. He was attractive, in that primal way people liked to pretend they were no longer affected by. Bucky flicked his alien eyes over Steve then bent down to snag the clothing along with the shoes and push them at Steve, showing he’d understood Steve’s intent very well. 

Blushing again Steve did his best to clean himself up under the watchful eyes, trying to pretend how quietly and intensely Bucky was watching him wasn’t affecting him . Even though Bucky wasn’t trying to touch him, Steve couldn't shake off the feeling of being hovered over.

When he wobbled, trying to pull up his pants while standing at the same time, he felt a brief touch to his elbow that retreated as soon as he caught his balance. He turned to look.

“I’m okay,” Steve reassured. He couldn’t know if Bucky was truly worried about him, or if it was just him projecting his own feelings onto Bucky, but it wouldn't hurt to be nice. After all this whole thing with Bucky could have gone so much worse.

Steve got no reply to his words, but he was starting to get used to how quiet the dragon was.

*

Steve closed his eyes and leaned his head against an old wooden strut. Sleep wasn’t coming to him, not after he had to salvage the sad remnants of their supplies from the refugee camp culled by the Rinarks. Whenever he closed his eyes, he could see the empty tents, the belongings dropped wherever, food lying forgotten on tables. The camp itself hadn’t even been destroyed. It was just empty. Of people, of anything valuable or of strategic importance. All that was left was odds and ends, mostly personal possessions forgotten in the wake of the violent attack. Nobody knew what exactly happened to people taken by the Rinarks, whether they were sold into slavery, experimented on, or downright eaten. They were gone, and nobody had ever heard from them again.

Steve and his group gathered what they could, searched the annihilated remnants of the troops Bucky had destroyed, and high-tailed it out of there before somebody further up the Rinarks’ hierarchy caught on to the fact their vanguard wasn’t checking in.

They sent a coded message to all the other camps they’d set up over North America. Each of the ex-Avengers ran a mostly independent program; the location of the camps and exact number of people kept in them strictly confidential. As a rule, they only knew the coordinates for a few camps, only those that were considered of particular strategic value. It was Tony’s idea; if they didn't know, the information couldn't be tortured out of them. 

The other agreement was that never more than three Avengers could be in the same place at the same time. They were responsible for too many people, too many survivors to risk losing their lives collectively. Other factions helped out, of course, ironically the ones faring best against the Rinarks were the mutants that the governments of so many countries had been so eager to collar and imprison.

They didn’t trust the Avengers, though, preferring to keep away from them and hiding their people as deep as possible. With the methodical destruction of technology and supplies the Rinarks were wrecking, Steve really wished their relationship with the mutants had been better before the catastrophy. They got a mutant here and there, but they tended to keep away from the ordinary humans. One of Steve’s camps had a family with two young teenagers, both with apparently the unremarkable power of aiding in falling asleep. It wasn’t even making people sleep on demand, just being in their presence let others fall asleep more easily and sleep dreamlessly. A useless power it would seem. But when the whole camp consisted of traumatised survivors, the chance to sleeping a full night was suddenly a stunningly valuable commodity. Instead of being shunned, they were loved by the people in their camp.

Steve couldn’t stop thinking that if they had had a better relationship with the mutants, they could get more help from them, maybe hide people away more successfully. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to see the empty camp every time he closed his eyes.

The old mine they’d set up as a base housed around a hundred people. It wasn’t big enough to serve as a complete refugee camp, but it was a nice halfway point for their more experienced agents, and what they called herders, ex-military or ex-Shield personnel trained in finding survivors and bringing them to these kinds of places rather than the long-term camps. In the underground tunnels, they’d partitioned as much space as they could and brought supplies for people to so that they could rest up and resupply. Steve’s quarters were the same. Just a corner of a small cave-like room, partitioned with some canvass and a mattress on the ground. He was given bedding, sheets and blankets too. No pillow though. He gave that up for the thing they liked to call a hospital wing, but in reality just had slightly better basic living supplies and simple meds. Thankfully Steve never needed to use the place or the scarce medical supplies they had.

He didn’t mind the lack of comfortable items for himself. But he wished he had something to take his mind off of his failure, of the misery of wondering if all those people could have been saved if he hadn’t gone in search for the dragon.

Steve now thought of the dragon. Bucky didn’t like going underground, preferring to stay above. As far as they knew, he just paced around the sparse forest above the mine’s entrance. Neither Steve nor Tony saw him sleep or eat, but he was always close to the entrance. Steve thought that after being locked in a dark empty cave, it was no wonder Bucky preferred the outdoors to the confines of the mine. 

Steve found himself curious about Bucky, maybe even missing his presence at times. He knew it was expected in this cold modern world, but he missed touch. People now lived with this strange belief that men shouldn’t be touched unless it was for sex and that made Steve so lonely. He was used to shoulder pats and hugs from the Howlies, from his friends. To awaken in a world that considered a handshake that lasted more than a few seconds to be somehow shameful and a reason for suspicion was unbelievably lonely. 

Being close to the dragon was, in a way, a very refreshing experience. Bucky didn’t have human hang-ups, and he didn’t know or care about who Captain America was. To the dragon, Steve was… Steve had no idea how the dragon saw him, actually. If Steve wanted him to fight, the dragon had proved he would obey even unspoken orders. Afterwards, he’d also proved that he wouldn’t shy away from touching Steve to get what the contract promised him. 

Steve thought of their coupling in the barn, how it had felt to have Bucky’s cock inside him, how it had felt to have the large body over him. It’d felt good, and had the potential to feel really good, he knew. Steve had been stressed and didn’t really know what he’d been doing at first. But if Bucky was willing to learn a few things, Steve was sure their couplings could be much more pleasurable for both of them. 

He licked his lips, a wild idea blooming in his mind. What if Steve did teach Bucky to have sex for pleasure, not just for breeding? Had anyone ever tried to touch the dragon with care? To bring him pleasure? Or had they merely adhered to the letter of the contract?

For all his inhumanity, Bucky was acting almost kindly towards Steve. He could tell the dragon had never once tried to harm him or cause pain. He’d reacted to any clue that Steve had wanted to stop and that… That made Steve think way too much about him.

Steve alighted from the support he’d been leaning against. He was basically alone in this section of the mine; there was nobody around to hear what he might do. If he asked Bucky to come down, nobody would be around to see anything.

With his heart pounding, and thoroughly distracted from his morose thoughts, Steve left his quarters and headed for the entrance of the mine. He could ask, and see what happened. After all, he already felt like shit, being rejected by Bucky couldn't make him feel worse, that was for sure.

He found the dragon not far away from the mine’s entrance, standing under the pouring rain, face turned up to the sky, and letting the downpour soak him up completely. When Steve stepped out from the shadows, Bucky turned to him. Steve saw the long hair plastered to his face, the pale blue eyes almost luminous in the darkness. The red shirt they’d made him don was soaked through, clinging to his muscular chest obscenely.

“Aren’t you cold?” Steve asked as he came closer, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head, the autumn rain cold and unpleasant on his scalp.

Bucky turned to him, his face as unreadable as before, but something made Steve think he was amused.

“Oh come on,” Steve huffed. “You’re soaked to the bone.”

Bucky walked towards him, bare feet silent on the wet leaves. He stopped just inches from Steve, and Steve felt that strange curious tug under his ribs again.

“No,” he murmured inhaling the scent of a winter night. “No fighting, just...” he swallowed, nervous. “Come with me?” Steve asked. “I want to show you something.”

Bucky didn't say anything, but when Steve began walking back into the mine, the dragon silently followed.

They walked undisturbed, through the old shafts, the night guards familiar enough with Steve they didn’t feel the need to check on the identity of his companion. Or maybe they were just too jaded to have a run-in with Steve if anything was really out of order.

Bucky didn’t react to how spartan Steve’s quarters appeared, but considering his previous accommodation, he didn’t think the dragon really cared.

“Did anyone ever touch you just to make you feel good?” Steve asked, knowing it was in vain. As usual Bucky didn’t reply, didn’t even attempt a response. 

He looked at Steve, his eyes cold and alien, the sharp slits of his pupils disturbing. His long hair fell over his face, wet strands sticking to Bucky’s skin in slightly curling tendrils. This was the first time Steve really had let himself look at the man from up close. He found it curious that Bucky's body never betrayed any aggression. Not when meeting new people, not when going into battle. Steve was envious of that kind of certainty. He wondered how it must feel to always be completely certain of himself and his actions. No doubts at all.

Steve pressed his open palm to the soaked-through stretch of Bucky's shirt. The cotton felt cold and rough under his hand, all too sharp, the fabric quality less than perfect. The body under it was hard, muscles as firm as his own, unyielding. He dragged his hand lower, to the belly moving slightly with each breath Bucky took. 

Steve felt the first stirrings of arousal coiling low in his belly. There was something incredibly alluring in how Bucky let Steve touch him. It wasn't fear, those cool eyes were anything but afraid. Steve exhaled and stepped a little closer, pressing his other hand to that flesh. He could feel how the warmth of Bucky's body was bleeding through the wet cotton, how his muscles worked gently with each inhale, the utter power. He thought about the way Bucky looked when changed into his dragon form - alien and different, enormous and unstoppable like a creature of fantasy.

Steve swallowed hard. He’d never feared danger, but now it seemed Steve liked it a little more than he’d thought.

He curled his fingers and pulled the shirt up, catching hold of the fraying edge.

"I want to touch you," Steve whispered, voice going hoarse for no reason. "I want you to touch me too."

He didn't take his eyes off Bucky’s, watched how he blinked, very slowly, the long dark lashes sweeping briefly over his cheeks, as he pulled the shirt up. Bucky didn't break eye contact, didn't turn his gaze away as he lifted his arms for Steve to rid him of the wet garment. Only when pulled off the shirt completely and it got over Bucky's head briefly, did Steve look down at the flesh he was revealing. 

The chest was sculpted and almost completely smooth. Bucky didn't have much scarring here, a few old ones, just a spider web of fading white lines. His was a different kind of build; heavier set, more compact than Steve’s long frame. Bucky was wider in the waist and in the hips, his build much more square than Steve and his impossible shoulder-to-hip ratio. Bucky's skin was damp, but there were no goosebumps, the cold seemingly not affecting him in the least. His arms were a different thing altogether. All along them there multiple scars, one overlaying one another, creating a thick layer of thickened tissue in places, and Steve couldn't help but remember the spell-spikes piercing through Bucky. Arms, legs, hands.

Steve let the shirt drop to the floor with a soft thump and touched those wide shoulders, dragging his palms down, driven by the oddest desire to soothe the old pain. The scar tissue felt smooth and hard under his touch, unresponsive. The hands were the worst. Layer over layer, the scars extending from the holes that must have been punched through his body, the indentations still visible. He wondered, briefly, about the kind of healing it had taken to repair his hands so perfectly after each injury.

Bucky shifted then, the first move he’d made, and twisted his hand around, making their palms slide over each other, breaking Steve's fixation with the scarring. He smiled crookedly at the dragon.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I'm sorry you were in pain."

The dark lashes lowered again and Bucky bent down, just enough to push his nose under Steve's jaw and inhale, long and slow. Even the tip of his nose was warm, and Steve huffed out an incredulous laugh at that. 

He jumped a little when he felt those hot palms land on his hips and pull him a little closer. Stave let his own hands slide over that wide back, feeling the odd scar here and there.

"May I kiss you?" Steve asked, running his fingernails very gently over the bare hot skin of Bucky's back. He almost thought he could feel a shudder going through it at the contact.

Steve took hold of Bucky's head and pushed him a away a little, just enough to make him look up. He forgot each time they came together that Bucky was just a little shorter. Not more than two inches but still shorter. It made Steve want to giggle.

Bucky's eyes flicked to Steve's lips and then back to his eyes, letting Steve know he understood what Steve meant when he’d asked for a kiss. He didn't do anything else, waiting patiently for Steve to act. His hands were brands of heat on Steve's hips, anchoring him in the here and now.

Steve didn't close his eyes when he leaned in, watching Bucky's reaction. The lips he touched were wide and soft, parting lightly when Steve licked over them. Soft and pliant, Bucky let Steve do what he wanted for the first few moments. He tasted the way he smelled, like a winter night even when his mouth was furnace-hot. Steve licked into him carefully, just tasting, enjoying the softness of Bucky’s lips. Steve lost himself in the slow kiss, in the feel of the warm skin under his hands. When he felt Bucky finally move, he almost jumped in surprise. One of those hot palms lifted off of his hip and fitted itself behind Steve's head, cupping the shallow curve of the bone there and stopping Steve's motion. Then Bucky tilted his head to and now he was the one licking into Steve. His movements were somewhat awkward, clearly unpracticed, a perfect mimic of what Steve had done. The careful kitten licks and the full soft lips felt so good against Steve mouth, the gentle slide and sharp winter taste.

The kiss was not a perfect copy though, the arm holding Steve immobile was more a controlling display of dominance than Steve would have dared. It made Steve blush, made him also get hard, the pure strength Bucky embodied a turn on he didn't expect.

He wanted, suddenly and painfully, to touch Bucky, taste him more intimately. He broke the kiss and sank to his knees, not willing to wait.

"Let me..." he trailed off, not sure how to explain and not willing to lose time trying. "Just let me, please. Stop me if you don't like it, okay?"

Bucky kept his hand on the back of Steve's head, his palm a hot brand on Steve's skin. It made him shiver. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Bucky's sweatpants and pulled them down, revealing the naked flesh underneath. Bucky was smooth here, his cock still soft and vulnerable. Steve pressed his nose against the hard belly and inhaled. Even here, above the musk and the damp smell of rain, he could still smell the sharp scent of a winter’s night. He pressed his cheek against Bucky’s cock and rubbed his face there, enjoying the softness of the skin, the intimacy of what he was doing, the daring of it.

When Steve took the slowly-hardening cock into his hand to lead it into his mouth, he felt a twitch of the fingers wrapped around his head. The head was very soft as he placed it on his tongue. The taste of skin, human and alien exploded on Steve’s tongue and he closed his lips over the organ. He sucked it in gently, letting it fill his mouth.

It wasn't like Steve knew what he was doing exactly. He’d never did this before and, well, never had it done to him. But he was smart, and he’d watched porn; he should be able to figure this out. He rested his hands on the hard bones of Bucky's hips, cupping them as he did his best to rub his tongue over the soft flesh that better filled his mouth now than when he’d first taken it in. He sucked, and then had to pull back as Bucky’s cock hardened completely, pressing uncomfortably close to his throat. He felt the first sign of resistance then, the hand on the back of his head relaxing, letting him pull back.

The wet cock slid from his lips, his bottom lip catching on the ridge of the head before it fell completely away. Erect it looked large enough to be intimidating again, all the vulnerability gone. Steve looked up, to see Bucky's head lowered, the slit pupils expanded into soft ovals and glistening wet lips open as he stared down at Steve. It was the clearest expression of desire Steve had seen on Bucky's face yet, and it sent a shock of heat down his own spine, making his nipples tighten so shockingly fast it almost hurt. His cock swelled and twitched in the confines of his jeans.

Steve licked his lips and when he felt the tug on his head, he rose to his feet. This kiss was sharper, lips firmer and tongue much more determined as Bucky pushed it into his mouth. They kissed for long moments, Bucky’s naked body pressed without a single shred of shame against Steve's stiff cock. He whimpered, hard and wanting and Bucky exhaled into his mouth. The burning hot hands went for Steve's clothes. Steve felt the way the fingers curled in the cotton of his shirt and jolted, realizing that Bucky meant to rip it apart when he sensed the rising tension in Bucky's muscles. He grabbed the thick wrists and squeezed.

"Wait," he gasped. The thought of Bucky ripping the clothes right off was, admittedly, hot as fuck, but Steve couldn't let it happen. Clothes were an ever rarer commodity these days.

When he felt Bucky let go, he pushed his wrists down, and reached for his own shirt. It didn't take long to divest himself from his layers. Steve didn't fold his clothes, just let them fall to the floor. Bucky didn't step away, just stood there, barely a hairsbreadth away and naked, watching him with darkened eyes.

When he was naked, Steve caught Bucky's wrist again and pulled him along. It was only a few steps till he reached the bedding, and he let go of Bucky to sink down on it. Steve blushed when he stretched out on the blankets. The way Bucky's eye followed him were like a physical touch, like hands on his body. Steve licked his lips, eyes fixed on Bucky's as he spread his legs. He felt lewd and daring, showing himself off like this, very clearly inviting Bucky to fuck him. It made his heart beat doubletime, heat coiling in his belly. Steve swallowed dryly and barely stopped a moan as his cock twitched and dribbled precome on his own stomach. He reached down to wrap his hand around it and give it a tug or two, just to quench the want suffusing him.

Bucky didn't need any help understanding the invitation. He moved between Steve's spread legs, the little hairs on his legs ticking Steve's skin as he gracefully sank down. Steve moved his knees enough to press against the warm sides, enjoying the feel of the powerful body. 

Unlike previous times, Bucky didn't go immediately for penetration. He seemed to catch on to the purpose of sex. His hands spread Steve's knees and then trailed up his thighs, raising goosebumps in his wake until he reached Steve's cock. He wrapped his hand over it and Steve couldn't help but gasp as he felt Bucky's fingers fold over his own. 

At first he wasn't moving at all, just... tracking the movement. After a few moments, Bucky's other hand came up, locking on Steve's wrist and pulling it away. He went easily, hopeful and hot all over. He’d wanted Bucky to touch him. And Bucky did. His hand was warm and strong as it closed over his aching cock and stroked, one long pull from root to tip that made Steve moan. He arched his back, shocked by how intense it felt to be touched by another person, so, so very different than his own touch could ever be.

Bucky pressed his other hand to his belly, all but flattening him to the pile of blankets while he continued stroking. Careful, measured, strong... he kept stroking Steve as if Steve were an experiment, a fascinating puzzle that he needed to figure out. Steve gasped and writhed, knees locking against Bucky's hips as the man stroked him to the edge of orgasm and then past it. He spasmed and shivered, mind blanked by intense pleasure, hands flying to lock on Bucky's shoulders even as his cock was spurting ropes of come. Pleasure all but blinded him. 

Steve tried to say something, thank him or praise him, but he couldn't, not when Bucky hasn't stopped stroking him. Not through his orgasm, not even after. He kept up that slow, measured rhythm that turned relentless. Muzzily, Steve realized that Bucky wasn't planning on stopping. He squirmed, gasping desperately for breath as his body see-sawed between sensations. Too much stimulation, pleasure and pain from being oversensitive with not a second of rest. He remembered suddenly that Bucky could go time after time with no break, and he thought a little hysterically that Bucky might think Steve could too, orgasm over and over again.

Steve laughed helplessly and breathlessly as he squirmed and flailed his hands to catch onto both of Bucky's forearms.

"Wait," he rasped, "I need a minute," he pleaded, fireworks of sensation flaring beneath his lids, "Oh god." It was so good and almost horrible at the same time. Steve felt like was out of his skin, but at the same time he was all but high with pleasure.

Bucky stopped, dark eyes fixed on Steve's face. He couldn't guess what he was thinking, but he was hard, his cock slick with the copious amounts of viscous precome. Steve was breathing with difficulty, almost dizzy with relief, heart still beating like mad in his chest as he reached for Bucky. The cock felt as big and heavy in his hand as it looked, slick with the natural lube Bucky produced. Steve had no idea what it was, but it made sex so much easier. He gave Bucky a few strokes, awkward in his position, but worth it to see the flutter of Bucky's eyelashes. Steve regretfully let go, wishing Bucky would make a single sound, at least once, and reached between his own legs.

"Here," he whispered, voice dry and hoarse, "put your fingers in me." And he blushed again. He had no idea why, what it was in Bucky's gaze that made him feel shy. Granted, Steve had never actually done this with another person, any of what he was doing with Bucky, but he was not a child. He shouldn't be so sensitive to Bucky's every look. He had no idea what it was that made him feel like a teenager, but deep down he liked it.

He pushed a slick finger inside himself, the touch feeling strangely neutral. It never felt all that good when he’d touched himself, nowhere near what it felt like when Bucky touched him. Steve didn't have to wait long; Bucky, as quick as all the times before, figured out Steve's intentions.

He gasped when he felt the slick press of a finger at his entrance, sliding into him along the finger he had inside already. It was such a strange and exciting feeling, the stretch of his rim and the fullness inside that felt nothing like before. He pulled away his own hand, waiting to see what Bucky would do.

"More," Steve said, when he felt his body adjust. Just like with any physical activity, the serum seemed to help with this too.

Bucky did as asked, adding first one, then a second as Steve indicated. He had no idea if Bucky understood the reason for this or not, but it felt so good. The fingers stretching him were thick and slick, preparing him slowly as if Bucky could wait however long it took. Well, Steve couldn't. His cock was hard and leaking again onto his stomach.

"Get inside me now," Steve whispered, reaching for Bucky's cock and tugging on it, making it clear what he meant. "Please," he added, thinking how it would feel to have Bucky inside him. During one of the lousy, lonely nights alone Steve had admitted that he liked it. Liked how it felt when Bucky pressed inside him, the stretch of his rim, the feel of the hard cock fucking him.

Bucky did as he was told.

Steve gasped and arched as he felt the press of the wide wet head at his entrance and then the steady push in. Bucky was as relentless as always, not stopping until he was fully sheathed, so deep Steve had to blink away the ridiculous thought that he could feel Bucky's cock in his throat. He moaned, wrapping his legs tightly around Bucky as he was fucked. He reveled in the stretch, the sense of connection it gave him, the mind-blowing pleasure as Bucky's cock dragged over Steve's prostate.

He was only vaguely aware of the sounds he was making, the little 'oh, oh, oh's of pleasure that were punched out of him with every push in, every drag of that thick cock inside him. He grabbed for his own cock, hand tangling with another also headed there. He let Bucky get hold of him, catching the man's wrist instead, anything to hold on to. 

The pleasure, already coiled tight, exploded in a blazing wave that swept Steve under, made him tighten almost painfully on Bucky inside him. His balls were spasming, whole body locking own and releasing in hard, rhythmic motion that threatened to knock him out completely. The pleasure was ebbing down, the spasms weakening as the oversensitivity set in. Weakly, he pushed Bucky's hand away from his twitching cock. It was too sensitive now to stand the touch anymore.

Bucky was still fucking him, hard and fast, the wet squelch of it shockingly loud. He couldn't tell if Bucky cared or not, but he looked flushed and messy now, hair flying all over as he braced himself above Steve’s head to get better leverage. He fucked Steve even harder. God, the stretch and the sense of fullness were driving Steve mad, the near-painful pleasure of Bucky's cock dragging repeatedly over his prostate making it impossible to think. 

All Steve could do was reach for Bucky, for his face, flushed and alive, and drag him lower, close enough he could kiss those plush, parted lips. It was messy, not much more than just the press of open mouths together. Steve could feel Bucky panting, the breath ghosting over his own flushed face. He did his best to lock his limbs around the man, pull him closer, help him come.

When Bucky did come he was completely quiet as always, just the sudden strain of muscles and the loud exhale of air to mark his orgasm. He ground hard into Steve, the press of Bucky’s body into his almost painful as sharp jolts of pleasure wrecked him.

Steve wasn't sure how much more he could take, how much pleasure or pain he could bear before he broke, but he wanted to find out. In that moment, under the sweaty, heavy body of the dragon-turned-human, Steve felt alive, mind for once not focused on the misery of his life, but the here and now, with just the pleasure and closeness of another person.

Whatever else happened down the road, Steve was resolved to not ever regret this night, or any pleasure he received from Bucky or managed to return.

As close to death and total annihilation as Steve and the rest of humanity were, he felt more alive than ever, if only for this one night.

*  
The trips to the waypoints were both a hard thing and a way to catch up with people he hadn't seen a while. Usually, he’d be making this trip alone, but he wasn’t today; Bucky was with him, following Steve silently into the Quinjet, conveniently pretending not hear Steve telling him to stay at the old mine.

Steve smiled at the sight of Sam stepping out from the burned out ruins of a Wallmart. Due to limited supplies there were often times when one or more of the Avengers went months without any kind of reliable communication.

“Sam!” He sped up to hug his friend tightly. Sam was dressed in a hodge-podge of clothes inclusive of military-style cargo pants and a fur lined coat. Very furry. And curly. “Nice duds,” Steve laughed, “you look like a sheep.”

“Very funny,“ Sam grumbled, hugging him back just as tightly. “I missed you, man.”

This meeting had been set up over six months ago, one of the regular pickup meetings set up all over the East Coast where the agents responsible for finding survivors dropped off their quarry. Usually they didn’t get more than thirty people from one place, sometimes none at all. The longer the invasion went on, the harder it was to find people.

“I missed you too,” Steve said warmly, reluctantly pulling back from the hug. “I wish we could meet more often.” He looked Sam over, noticing the healing cut low on Sam’s neck. There were many more scars on his friend's body now than when Steve first met him. “But you are coming back with me, right? We’ll have time to catch up.”

“Actually,” Sam shook his head, “I don't think I will be coming back with you.”

“What?”

“I’ll show you why in a moment, but first, can you explain your silent shadow?”

Steve blinked. He actually forgot about Bucky, who walked so quietly and never made noise even by accident that it was easy to forget his existence if he wasn’t directly in Steve’s line of sight.

“Uh,” he floundered for words, unsure how to answer. Explaining dragons looking like humans in a few words wasn't so easy when he needed to do it immediately. “A dragon. He’s cool. He’s with me,” Steve blurted out.

Sam blinked at him, opening his mouth to ask questions, but then very obviously changing his mind and closing his mouth. Steve was again reminded of _how much he loved Sam_. The man never pressed where it wouldn’t do any good.

“You vouching for him?”

Steve nodded. He trusted Bucky not to act unless asked for assistance.

“He’s solid.”

“Ok then,” Sam said turning back towards the ruins of the mall. “Come on, let me show you what’s going on.”

Steve followed Sam, curious but at the same time a little sad that this is what they were driven to. Just this matter of factness, no longer time or energy for early morning runs or just relaxing. It was like they’d been pared down to just pure survival.

Steve never forgot that Sam’s family hadn’t made it out of Washington.

Maybe that was why Sam was so good at finding people. Always on the move, he was tirelessly combing the ruins of their cities in search of survivors. Steve followed him through the burned-out mall and down through doors half off their hinges and warped from the heat. Then they walked along a twisting corridor, passing empty rooms, probably what used to be offices and utility rooms until they turned again, then went down two more flights of stairs. Steve could hear them before he saw them. As Sam pushed the industrial sized door open, Steve saw a huge room filled with long-dead machinery, lit by a few kerosene lamps and… people. Sitting under the walls, curled up on the floor, standing around the meager belongings piled up everywhere. 

Well over a hundred people.

Dirty, scared, cold and skinny, but undeniably, gloriously _alive_.

Then reality rushed in. He’d brought the Quinjet, since it could carry up to thirty people when they were squeezed in like sardines. Maybe. What it definitely couldn’t do was carry all those people. Not at once. 

Tony’s masking technology was mind bogglingly good, but even the brilliant engineer knew he couldn't just make things disappear. The secret to the Quinjets staying undetected for so long was that they never flew the same route twice. To get all of those people out, they would need to go back several times at least.

Steve looked over his shoulder at Bucky, silent and hanging back, his eerily light eyes watching Steve, not the people crammed into the underbelly of the destroyed mall. He was a force of destruction himself, but completely useless in a situation that didn’t call for outright mayhem.

Steve was an average pilot. He knew what to do, but it wasn’t his element. Tony could pilot or drive anything like it was an extension of himself. If he was risking one of the very few Quinjets they still had working, Steve would need Tony to fly it. He looked over the survivors Sam had managed to find. 

Yeah, he would risk the jet.

They were lucky the first two rounds. Steve insisted on stuffing as many people as he could into the plane, even if it meant them sitting squished up on the floor. The best they did was thirty two people in one go. 

On the third trip, their luck ran out.

Tony’s had an unparalleled ability to take in tons of information that the Quinjet was displaying at once. they were flying at night, trying to take as advantages as possible, hoping the darkness would hide them if the masking didn’t. 

Tony swerved, banking the plane sharply to the right just a fraction of a second before the the displays turned red and screeched a targeting warning at them.

The first shot went wide, scoring the side of a mountain and blinding Steve briefly with the acid green color of the energy attack. Steve hung onto the console as Tony dived sharply and turned, trying to confuse the targeting system.

“We can’t take a direct hit,”Tony said through gritted teeth as they barely managed to avoid another blast, “Steve!” 

Steve looked to where Bucky was wedged in just by the hatch. The dragon calmly watched him calmly, pale eyes fixed on Steve, seemingly unaware of the shivering sobbing people crowded all around him.

Steve felt the tug, just below his heart. Strong, purposeful. Bucky already knew what the request would be.

“Don’t let them hit us,” Steve said, even as he hit the button for hatch release. “Everybody, hold on, it’s going to get windy.”

Tony was already gaining altitude, learned from previous experience to give Bucky enough room to maneuver, otherwise they could very well be squashed flat. 

The sheer size of the Dragon was still enough to set off all of Quinjet’s alarms, making Tony fight to keep the machine flying as the very air filled with endless coils of metallic scales. There was a strange sensation of being _pushed away_ , of the plane moving not under it’s own power. Then the air glowed green all around them as the dragon _screeched_ , a low and vibrating sound that hurt Steve’s teeth.

Steve switched the settings on the different cameras mounted along the jet until he pulled up a panoramic view of what was happening behind and above them. The first thing he noticed was the bulk of the dragon’s body coiled tightly just above them, blotting out the sky and somehow, miraculously keeping up with them. He could see wings, one of the six with what looked like a charred hole in it, oozing something that looked like liquid metal.

Bucky was hurt.

Another shot, the beam of energy thicker this time, and Steve could see how the huge body rocked, could see a splatter of that liquid silver fall through the air, even as the dragon roared, loud and angry. He saw Bucky twisting and turning his head, looking up, looking to find the enemy he couldn’t see. He shot off quick shots of cold light up into the sky, but there was nothing for him to fight; they most likely were being shot at by the orbiting mothership. The Rinarks, it seemed, had decided to be careful this time, or just didn't have any troops in the vicinity. That probably wouldn’t be for long.

The Rinarks fired another shot and Steve saw Bucky falter, could see the tight formation of coils above them loosen, the large body tilting towards the left before it evened out its position in the air again. A steady stream of silvery blood rained through the air. 

Steve could see the moment Bucky got angry. Whether it was because he’d spent so much time with the dragon, or because of their connection, he almost experienced himself the moment Bucky lost his patience. Bucky roared again and he seemed to almost shake, his metallic scales shifting from their flat fit into a more dangerous ragged look, almost standing out from his body. This made him look even bigger than before, if that was even possible, and when he opened his jaws wide, he didn’t shoot an attack at the sky. Instead of a tight beam of cold light, a ball of it formed between Bucky’s wide-open jaws, just between the points of his longest fangs. 

As Steve watched, the ball seemed to grow, if not in size then in intensity. The air around it darkened, as if all light had been sucked into it. Bucky’s eyes glowed beneath the armored ridges and small sparks of light travelled along his twisting horns.

The lights in the Quinjet flickered.

Steve took his eyes away from the dragon to look at the instruments, but everything seemed okay.

He looked back to Bucky, maw still full of tightly packed light, little sparks appearing all over his head and neck, traveling slowly lower.

Tony gasped, a choked-back painful sound and when Steve looked to him, seeing that the arc reactor in his chest was… _flickering_. At the same time all the lights in the Quinjet went dark. Steve just had the time to notice the scared pained look in Tony’s eyes as _all electronics went dark_ , as well as the jet’s engines.

Tony wheezed loudly now, hands weakening on the unresponsive control wheel as he tilted sideways, very obviously fighting unconsciousness. Steve hit the pedal to switch control to him and did his best to level out the plane, but it wasn’t responding. The controls’ function resisted, the plane felt more like a brick falling through the air than a sophisticated piece of engineering. 

“Switch…” Tony was mumbling, face slack in the way people hovering on the edge consciousness had. He tried to lift his hand and paw at a panel on a console Steve had never seen him use before. Abandoning the unresponsive controls, Steve reached for the panel, finding it a simple slide-to-open cubicle. 

“Off,” Tony managed to choke out, clinging to consciousness by the skin of his teeth, the arc reactor in his chest completely dark.

Steve glanced through the windshield and caught a glimpse of the dragon, his entire body covered in lightning sparks, glowing against the backdrop of the black sky. The ball of light between his jaws hurt Steve’s eyes when he tried to look at it. 

Inside the cubicle there was a lever, a big metal lever that didn’t suit the sleekly designed jet at all. It was pointing at a neat ON label. Below was an OFF label. This must have been what Tony meant, so Steve reached for the lever, trying not to think how much his chest hurt, how hard it was to breathe. His hand shook as he reached for the lever, and when he gave the first tug, nothing happened. They were still falling uncontrollably, the jet seemed to be without power, and Steve couldn't fucking get enough strength to pull a goddamned lever. Pissed off and scared, he yanked again. It hurt his whole arm. As if he was old and sickly, as if his body had no energy at all. But he did it. Resisting all the way, the lever moved. As he kept pulling, he heard a deep shudder run through the plane, something crunched and screeched, then clicked audibly when the lever hit the OFF position.

Trusting Tony to know what he was doing, Steve grabbed the controls again and the Quinjet _responded_. The engines were still off, but he could actually control the plane now. He could feel it reacting to his manipulation of the controls. Slowly and awkwardly, it stopped its uncontrollable spinning and evened out into a glide. Steve knew they were going to crash, but if he chose the site well, there was a chance they would survive, and maybe even the plane would be salvageable.

A large field appeared ahead and to the left of them, looking wet and marshy, hopefully soft enough, and Steve turned the plane that way, trying to keep his trajectory as shallow as possible while essentially gliding.

He became aware of the silence then. Nothing was making a sound. Not the engines, not the ever-present hum of electricity, _none_ of the thirty people on board.

His heart twisted sideways, painfully as he looked over his shoulder.

Everybody was either slumped senseless or sprawled on the little space they had for themselves. Heads and arms were dangling with the kind of looseness a conscious person just couldn’t replicate.

 _God_ , he thought, _let them just be unconscious. Please, don’t let me be the one to have killed them_.

As the field came closer and closer, the plane rattled more and more. Steve risked a last glance at the dragon. It wasn’t Bucky, not with how its whole body glowed, huge and otherworldly. The energy gathered in his jaws was so bright, there was so much of it, Steve couldn't even discern the details of the dragon’s head. As he watched the dragon's body jerked and uncoiled, the sphere of energy reforming and reshaping into a blast. It was wider and brighter than the ones Steve had seen before, and it hurt something in him, made him cough and feel as though he was that sick kid again who shouldn't have been able to survive one more day.

The Quinjet hit the field with a teeth-jarring impact, almost throwing Steve out of his seat and dislodging Tony’s unconscious body. They bounded and skipped like a stone. Through an incredible stroke of luck, the field really did turn out to be muddy, the earth so soaked with water they slipped over the surface without ripping the jet in half. It must have been just a few dozen seconds, less than half a minute, yet it felt like an eternity as Steve fought to keep himself in his seat with limbs that refused to cooperate, with fingers that hurt just bending, much less holding onto anything. At some point he hit his head hard enough he must have blacked out for a heartbeat or two. When he blinked his eyes open again, the plane was still, the windshield covered with mud and grass. He stumbled out of his seat and pulled Tony back into his, checking his pulse.

It was weak but steady, the arc reactor slowly flickering now. One, twice, then lighting up again. Steve’s whole body ached like it never had and he went to check on his passengers. He found them unconscious and a little bruised, all with that weak pulse, but thankfully alive.

When he reached the hatch, manual overdrive managed to open it only a bare inch. He pushed his fingers into the gap, ignoring how the hard metal all but skinned them, and pushed.

It took so much more effort than usual. Steve’s body protested each time he pressed his shoulder against the metal door, his heart seemingly losing its rhythm every few moments, only to pick up twice as fast. His lungs expanded, but too little air made it into them, making him dizzy and weak. And in pain; so many aches and pains he was no longer used to. Steve grit his teeth and swallowed down the pain, pushing at the hatch until it gave with a groan and moved.

He stumbled out into the mud, landing on his hands and knees, gulping in the cold night air. Only, it wasn't night anymore.

Everything was bathed in warm orange light.

Confused, he looked up at the sky and watched dumbfounded as the whole sky _burned_.

There were flames in the sky: yellow, red and blue, spanning over everything he could see. And behind that was the dragon, long body effortlessly floating through the air and shooting out attack after an attack at… a _falling mothership_.

It was entering the atmosphere and burning, the dragon obviously going in for the kill even as there were hundreds of smaller ships zooming around it. They weren’t attacking, but trying to escape. They were escape pods. And the dragon wasn't having any of that. It kept firing at every fast moving ship, at the mothership so large it was obscuring the sky, dealing death and destruction everywhere without a shred of mercy.

As exhausted and pained Steve was, as shocked as he was by the sight of a mothership falling into their sky, he still connected the facts. The dragon had used an overwhelming amount of energy to shoot that ship right out of orbit, and everything alive or electronic had lost energy at the same time. The air too, if the freezing sting in his nose and on cheeks was anything to go by.

The dragon drew his energy from sucking it out of everything around him.

Steve had no idea how long he’d sat there in the cold wet mud, watching the carnage in the sky when he heard another person scramble through the hatch.

Tony.

His friend looked even older, his face drawn and eyes more sallow, as he fell down beside Steve and rolled onto his back to look at the sky.

“If this is what happens when he’s pissed off,” Tony said weakly towards the burning sky, his other hand curled protectively against the arc reactor in his chest, “what will he do when he understands you lied to him?”

*

Steve truly missed hot showers. All he had now was a basin of cold water, a bar of soap, and half of an old t-shirt that served as a washcloth. He dragged the wet cloth over his chest, goosebumps rising in its wake, and thought about the clusterfuck of the latest survivor retrieval. When he told Bucky to guard the Quinjet he’d never expected it could turn into such a catastrophe. 

He knew Bucky was dangerous, he knew that having him engage the Rinarks could backfire on them, if only in the possible casualties caused just by the aftermath of the powerful blasts his dragon form was capable of. What Steve didn't expect was that what he’d seen before wasn’t the peak of the dragon’s abilities, but merely the norm. A day later, no longer sore and concussed, Steve could truly consider the enormity of the situation.

Remnants of the Rinarks’ mothership, those what hadn’t burned up in the atmosphere or had been torn to shreds by an angry dragon, crashed into what used to be the center of Wisconsin, just above the ruins of Oshkosh. Twenty-four hours later and it was still burning. Curiously enough, the Rinarks didn’t show up to guard the wreckage beyond the first wave of ships that were clearly meant as rescue. The only reason that whatever was left of US hadn’t been flattened into oblivion by the crash’s shockwave was because the ship had been occupied, and the crew had fought to keep it aloft till the very end, hoping to survive long enough to escape. 

Bucky didn’t go easy on those left.

After it crashed, it was clear the ship must have been built in space. Even blown up and burned out, half-melted by the entry into the atmosphere, it was beyond huge. Tony estimated it was roughly the size of New York. He was chomping at the bit to go there and strip the wreckage of anything useful, but he’d had to wait because they weren’t sure if Rinarks weren’t setting a trap. The situation was tense and uncomfortable; everybody was waiting for the other side to make a move.

Steve finished dragging the cold soapy cloth over his skin and did his best to rinse it off. He shivered slightly in the chill of the air, wet skin pebbling in reaction to the cold. He grabbed the towel he’d put out earlier and dried himself briskly. There were no marks on him; no scars, no bruises, no discolorations, and he hated that. He wished there was something, anything at all, to show mark the events he’d gone through.

“Steve?” It was Tony, his steps crunching up the gritty mine floor. “You decent?” he asked pulling the flap of the canvas closing off his quarters without actually waiting for Steve to respond.

“Aaaand you aren’t,” he drawled, ogling Steve with overblown leer, is eyebrows wiggling up and down in a parody of a come-hither look 

Steve snorted out a laugh in spite of his dark mood.

“Yeha yeah, how will your modesty survive now?” he murmured as he pulled on his pants and started doing up the buttons. 

“It’s not my modesty that’s in danger,” Tony shot back. “It’s the male pride that’s taking a beating.”

“Your pride is safe and sound, believe you me,” Steve laughed, reaching for his shirt and pulling it on.

“Speaking of safety, where’s your protector?” Steve paused with his shirt bunched up around his face, the odd chord in Tony’s voice catching his attention.

“Outside, watching the sky probably. He does that a lot.”

Tony’s dark eyes, looking even more tired than before, flicked quickly over the meager belongings Steve kept in his quarters.

“I thought about our little problem,” Tony pointed his finger up. “How not little it becomes when angry.”

Steve shivered slightly, remembering how it felt to be so cold again, so weak and helpless. To have his body be an enemy again. He didn’t miss that feeling, even if the serum wasn’t all that he’d hoped it could be. Tony’s warning was still echoing in his head. About Bucky and anger. He hated to admit it, even in the privacy of his mind, but Tony was right. When Steve had made the deal with Bucky, he hadn’t truly considered the consequences. Maybe he hadn’t truly believed it was happening at all, half-convinced it was just a desperate dream.

Even when he’d seen the dragon form for the first time, he’d still believed in the back of his mind, that it was manageable. The Avengers had taken down bigger, meaner enemies and this one was still just one. That feeling when everything went cold and quiet, the terror of trying to land a plane filled with people not making a single sound, possibly dead because of him… drove home just how badly Steve had miscalculated. 

Whatever vague notions he’d had about Bucky not being a threat in the long run, were well and truly thwarted. He’d made a deal under false pretenses, and sooner or later the truth would out. If recent events were any indication of what happened when Bucky got pissed off, they could very well face destruction even more absolute than what the Rinarks had wrought. The fact that Bucky wasn’t communicating - whether by design or by choice - meant Steve couldn’t get to really know him, couldn’t predict his reaction to learning about the lie. He thought about the deep bruising he’d seen on Bucky’s body after he’d changed back into his human form. The almost black patches of blood under the smooth skin, how much it must have hurt. Bucky had made no sound of complaint though, hadn’t done anything to indicate he was in need of comfort or help. He’d taken that pain, the potential to die whenever he launched himself into battle - because that was part of their deal.

The part Steve wasn’t upholding.

“I talked with Strange,” Tony said when he saw that Steve wasn’t going to answer. “To say he wasn’t happy with us is more than a little, hmm, inaccurate.”

“Strange?” The magician tended to keep away from both the ex-Avengers as well as the mutants or any other group. It hadn’t gained him any good will among the forces trying to gather the survivors, some outright accusing him of betrayal. Steve couldn’t say he liked the man, but at the same time, he firmly believed that Strange was as invested in protecting people as they were. Still, it irritated the hell out of him that he wouldn't just tell them what he’d been up to.

Steve pulled his shirt down and sat on his bedding to pull on his boots.

“Yeah, he’s here,” Tony said shuffling his feet a little.

At this Steve looked up, fingers going lax on the laces.

“What?”

“I think you should ask him,” Tony said uncomfortably. Steve knew Tony hated the concept of magic, and having to defer to the magician was probably stinging as hell. It was remarkable Tony had even brought the the subject up.

“What… Tony, what brought this on?”

“The thing your dragon did when he shot that mothership out of the orbit? I’m pretty sure he converted…” Tony swallowed his words, probably judging Steve not enough of a quantum physicist to understand him. 

“He sucked the energy from around him,” Steve offered, saving Tony the trouble of trying to dumb down his theory.

“Yes,” Tony nodded grateful, his lightning fast mind gaining speed fast. “But that’s not accurate. It wasn’t from around him. It was from this reality. It means, that if he pulled enough power from it, he could, theoretically, collapse this whole reality and destroy it.”

Steve blinked. This seemed like a lot more than even he expected.

“...reality?”

“Yes.” Tony nodded furiously. “Pissed-off dragon equals our whole damn reality going kaboom.” Tony spread his hands with a whooshing sound to illustrate his words better. “And with it our planet, we, and probably all the world's everywhere.” 

Steve could feel his mouth going dry. He could hear what Tony wasn’t saying. The recent years had changed him in many ways, one of which was the ability to actually think before blurting things out.

That this was all his fault. That they might have been losing the war, but there was still a chance the Rinarks would just leave and what survivors they managed to protect would build a new world to live in. By pursuing his impossible dream, Steve might as well have taken even that chance away from them.

“I think we came up with a solution to your problem, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”

Steve didn’t think he was in a position to like or dislike anything.

 

*

 

Strange hadn’t escaped the war unscathed. A new series of long, thin scars stretched from his left cheek to his neck, disturbing the meticulously-kempt beard. And like most of them, there were dark shadows under his eyes.

Nobody had been left unscathed in this war.

What Steve didn’t expect was the obvious unease on the magician’s face, how he steepled his scarred hands in front of his face, elbows braced on the rickety table at which he sat. He was also wearing that ridiculous cape. Well, Steve no longer thought it was so ridiculous, when he’d seen it act on its own to protect the magician. What was more, nothing could pierce through the apparently flimsy material.

“Let’s not beat around the bush. You need to be able to get pregnant and deliver a child or our whole reality might be destroyed when the contract comes due. What you don’t seem to realize is that magical contracts are as powerful as the sides engaged in it. Even if the dragon doesn't choose to blow us all out of existence, the contract itself very well might.”

“Contract?”

“God,” Strange moaned, “why do you people always try to assign some improbable values to magic! Isn’t it obvious that when a contract grants you absolute obedience from a creature powerful enough it exists in multiple realms at the same time, there would be a penalty horrible enough that nobody ever tried to wiggle out of it?”

Now that Strange mentioned it, it did seem terribly obvious that there would have to be some kind of penalty. Steve had only looked from his own perspective, and there were plenty of things that were horrible to him. But he was just one side of the contract. It would make sense that the penalty for not fulfilling it would be equally painful for the more powerful party. Considering what the dragon was capable of, Steve wasn’t sure he even wanted to know what made him be so absolutely obedient in the face of that.

“Anyway, since the dragon does get something very valuable out of this deal, it is impossible to determine if his obedience is due to the possible penalty or because he is so invested in the endgame. I would assume the dragon himself is the most dangerous and immediate threat.”

Steve swallowed, the fear he’d tried so hard not to allow into his mind returning. When alone with Bucky, he almost managed to convince himself that it was harmless, that Bucky was harmless. A friend even. It was when other people got involved that everything started looking bad. Apparently. Steve’s ability to fool himself was growing by leaps and bounds these days.

“It’s why smart people never sign contracts they haven't previously read.” Steve was reminded again just why he couldn’t stomach Dr. Strange for long. And to think this was the gentler, softer version of the man.

“Silly me, I was distracted by the aliens,” Steve gritted out, stung by the accusation that hit too close to home.

“They are not your biggest problem,” Strange shot back, as usual, not deigning to explain more.

“Listen,” Steve tried to placate the man. He might not like the magician, but he trusted Tony. With the kind of personality clash they were having right now, they could bicker forever, just wasting time instead of actually getting down to business. “Tony said you had a solution?”

The magician exhaled loudly and leaned back in his chair.

“Yes,” he said in that precise clear tone. “But even I am feeling uncomfortable with it.”  
Steve could feel his eyebrows rising.

“It can’t be that bad.” Tony wouldn’t have suggested a solution that was worse than the problem, right?

“I deal with magic now, but I used to be a surgeon,” Strange said, a propos of nothing. “Tony suggested combining those two areas of expertise. I’ve managed to come up with a spell that, if done correctly, should shift a lot of your internal structures to what it would have been had you been female. This is only possible because, as a male you possess both X and Y chromosomes; your body does carry the genetic information necessary for the process. However you are not female, you were born male and identify as male too, so such a change would most probably be nothing short of pure horror.”

Steve stared, shocked and appalled in equal measure.

“You’re suggesting...:” Steve trailed off, the incredulity choking his voice. “To change me into a woman?”

Strange snorted.

“If I just wanted to make you look like a woman, that would be a child’s play. It would be merely an illusion. No. What I am suggesting is changing only a part of you, but enough for you to come into possession the required equipment to conceive and carry a child. You will have a double set of genitals because the less changes to your real body the easier it will be to stabilise the spell, as well as a fully functioning uterus. Since time is of the essence, Tony suggested adding some kind of failsafe to ensure you conceive as quickly as possible. I agree with him. I think your body and mind will be fighting the changes enough, prolonging the stress could only result in destroying all the work put into the spell.”

“Is that even possible? Changing my body that way?”

Strange nodded.

“Theoretically. It’s all in making your body, or rather some of your organs forget that you possess a Y chromosome and act only on information carried by the X chromosome. It’s a simplification of course, but depending on how your body and the serum in your blood reacts to my manipulation, it very well might be possible.”

“Would it be permanent?” Steve asked, a sour sickness welling up in his belly. The thought of having his body changed again, and permanently, was twisting his stomach into knots. When he’d had the serum he hadn’t truly understood what he was agreeing to, and desperate to show, he was more than his body, trying to prove himself to everybody. With experience had come wisdom, and Steve now understood the enormity of what he’d allowed to be done to him back then. It was blind luck that had made the whole experiment turn out as well as it had. He hadn’t realized how much a comfort it had been to him before, that life was a finite thing, that the change had been a beginning and an end. Now he might not have a natural end; his body hadn’t shown any signs of aging since he’d been changed, and that terrified him. Doomed to be alone, to watch all his loved ones die…

He wasn’t sure he would be able to spend an eternity in a body that wasn’t even his.

Strange shook his head.

“No. A spell like that is not sustainable long term. The most I could reasonably key it for is the length of the pregnancy. So, if we did that, plus the additional layer to guarantee you would conceive on the first try, the longest I could maintain the spell would be for the length of the pregnancy. The moment the new organs were not in use, the spell would break, bringing you back to your usual physiology.”

“It seems almost too good to be true,” Steve said rubbing his face with his hands. “It could solve all my problems in one go.”

Dr. Strange made a huffy little sound.

“I think you are underestimating the toll it would take on both your body and mind. Since it would only be parts of your body that would change, you would be viscerally aware of the fact those parts are alien, not your own. If the pregnancy did take, your decidedly male brain would be flooded with a cocktail of hormones it’s not designed to withstand. I can’t even speculate how extreme your reactions could be, and that’s not even taking into account physiological strain.”

Steve shook his head.

“I’m not underestimating anything,” he snapped, thinking about that moment in the Quinjet when he realised the people he was supposed to be saving weren't making a sound, that his actions might have caused their deaths. Or the way Tony looked, slumped to the side, grey-skinned and unmoving, already looking like a corpse. “When can we do it?”

Steve saw the magician’s mouth open as he gaped for a moment, before snapping it shut, eyebrows going up.

“Just like that? Not even a moment’s thought?”

Steve nodded, mouth dry.

“I’m sure. When?”

Strange was staring at Steve with dark yes, the expression in them too close to pity for Steve’s comfort.

“I can do it anytime, even now,” Strange said, voice oddly gentle. “It will hurt,” he added as if Steve wasn’t aware how much body modification hurt. The vita-ray chamber had hurt more than anything he’d experienced since. Steve could guess this spell wasn’t going to be any nicer.

"Let's do it now," Steve said getting up from the table. "What do you need me to do?"

Strange watched Steve for a moment longer. "All right." The man nodded and got up as well. Steve watched the unnatural way the cape swung out and waited, hovering above the chair until the magician moved away from it, until once again resting itself back on his shoulders. He remembered Thor complaining once about how impractical capes were, how they tangled into things, got stuck under chairs’ legs, or went askew. Strange never had that problem. Steve saw the cape's end curl up from the floor to avoid being caught under the legs, or straighten itself behind the magician, never once askew or tangled in Strange's limbs.

 

"First I need to run a check on you, see how you respond to my interference."

As much as Steve tried not to show it, the way Strange moved his scarred, crooked fingers until a glowing diagram burst into life in front of him was amazing. It made Steve remember being a child, believing in magic and all the wonders of it.

The diagrams solidified into a circle, with glowing shifting marks all around the outer border of it. Strange moved his hands apart and the circle grew taller and wider than a man. It hung gently in the air, shimmering with a thousand shades of yellow and gold.

"Step in," Strange said as the circle turned and lay flat against the floor. Steve could see how the tiny particles of dust and other debris were being pushed away from the glowing lines.

It didn't feel like anything at first. Actually it made Steve feel stupid, standing in the middle of what could very well be his imagination. Nothing happened for long minutes, just Strange staring into middle distance, arms stretched out in front of him, hands spread. His fingers had been scarred by a multitude of surgeries and bad breaks, and holding the contorted position that must have hurt. Steve stood as still as possible, trying to not think of anything and not to speak, lest he distract the magician and ended up in even worse trouble than he was in now.

"Huh." It was the first sound Strange made since he’d called up the circle. His brows furrowed and his hands moved. The glowing markings on the outside of the ring separated from it and rose into the air, each a three dimensional shape in itself, twisting and shifting like a live thing. They started circling Steve, and with each pass the frown on the magician’s face deepened. "Interesting."

"Is there a problem?" Steve asked carefully, not letting himself panic. He was so tense he hurt.

"The opposite actually," Strange said, shifting his hands again. A deep red arrow-like shape bloomed at the level of Steve's chest. It shifted, transformed into a smaller circle that hovered just in front of Steve's torso. "You are uncommonly susceptible to magic." Strange frowned again. "There's usually a resistance. A human body knows how it should be and tends to reject outside change like this. But you... It's like you are born for this."

"Could it be the serum?"

Strange pursed his lips together and the circle in front of Steve changed again. Trying to look at the shapes inside made Steve's eyes hurt.

"I think it's older than that."

Steve thought about all the stories his mother had told him, how their line was special.

"It feels like there's a purpose to it." Strange let his hands drop, and the red circle disappeared. "In any case, it should make the whole procedure easier.”

"Do you need me to do anything?" Steve asked uneasily. Yes, he wanted to go through with the plan because the alternative was unthinkable. He wasn't happy about it though. Much less so about the fact that he was expected to have sex with Bucky with his newly-acquired parts, and his brain hurt even thinking how it might feel. Didn’t seem very appealing right now.

Strange's eyes flicked with something akin to pity.

"I can't knock you out for this, I'm sorry."

Steve nodded, accepting both the apology and the reality. Pain was something he was apparently destined for.

"Let's start then." Those were the last clear words Steve heard from the magician. Strange made a sharp motion with both his arms, twisting his wrists, scarred fingers spreading, and the circle Steve stood in shifted color from the soft shades of gold into a vicious acid green that seared his eyes. 

He felt a tingling, first in his fingers and toes, which spread rapidly over his body, ratcheting up in intensity until Steve had to clench his teeth so as not to scream. It didn't hurt yet, but it was one of the most uncomfortable sensations he’d ever experienced. The tingling was growing in strength, and soon only a buzzing sound overshadowed everything else he might be have sensed from his body. The green light was so blinding Steve had to tightly close his eyes to try and mitigate the risk of seared retinas, and the light stabbing right into his brain.

Something was wrong.

The feeling of oddness, of wrongness was clawing its way out of the depths of his brain, making itself felt, even under all the mad tingling. He wanted to squirm, but found that he couldn't. He likened this to the feeling of straightening out his leg out after having sat on it for too long. He could feel it, the pins and needles all over, but at the same time it felt like he couldn't properly control the sensation. This time it wasn’t just his leg, it was his whole body. Steve tried curling and uncurling his fingers but he couldn't tell if he’d managed or not. He knew his fingers were still there but he couldn’t be sure he was actually moving them.

The sensation of wrongness intensified, making him restless and want to try to fight against it. Steve was aware of a deep ache in his belly. His whole pelvis, under the maddening tingling, felt like everything inside it was two sizes too big for his body, and things were pressing at him in ways they just shouldn't.

Confused and frightened, even though he’d promised himself he wouldn't be, Steve made a sound suspiciously close to a whimper before he bit on his tongue hard enough to stifle it. He didn't want to look weak in front of Strange; he’d been the one to ask for this, this was being done to help him. This would fix his mistakes. He shouldn't be crying now, just because it felt like some kind of nightmare, a mirror universe where everything was slightly _off_.

The tingling receded as suddenly as it had started, its echoes fading slowly from his skin. When the green glow faded, Steve opened his eyes.

Strange looked... tired. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead, a few strands of hair stuck to his temples, and his hands were shaking slightly where Steve could see them at the magician’s sides. He was breathing evenly, but deeply, the way a person trying hard to control their breathing would.

Steve felt... wrong. Like his body was the wrong size. Not outside, a quick glance down confirmed he looked the same he had before, but he felt very different.

"Is it... done?"

Strange nodded, his breath still not back to normal.

"You should make use of this." He made a vague gesture towards Steve's body. "Your fertility I based on the phases of the moon, and today's the last day it’s full. If you miss it, you will have to wait till the next one to be certain of conception."

"Oh." Steve reeled. He knew he would have to have sex soon, but not quite that soon. He’d hoped for at least a day to get used to the new body.

Strange turned around and went back to the table, his steps not quite as sure as before.

"I need..." Steve hesitated, not sure how to say what he needed. Everything felt wrong, he had the oddest urge to press on his belly to push it back into place. Or maybe go to the bathroom. He felt too full, too big inside, and it was maddening. Like he needed to scratch an itch he couldn't reach. The distinct sense of wrongness not abating at all.

And between his legs... That felt different too. Wetter. _Wrong_. Like there were things there that shouldn't be there. He left the room without a word, thoughts fixated on the new sensations, his breath ruthlessly controlled. He would go back to his quarters and... look. Everything in him screamed not to, that he would hate whatever he found, but there was no choice. He needed to know how he was built now.

Then he would find Bucky and ask him to use the... other parts of him.

Steve swallowed bitterly. He’d just decided he liked what they did together, the way Bucky felt inside him. To have to deal with this new thing, to have to do it so quickly after the spell, could change how Steve felt about being touched by Bucky at all.

Steve didn't want it to change. He liked how it felt, both the care and the ruthlessness that the dragon managed to display at once. Steve should have already been used to never keeping the things he wanted though. If the thought of stripping and looking at his new body made him nauseous, well, he would just have to grit his teeth and deal. At least, he thought, Bucky probably wouldn't care about the change, since he didn't seem aware of human genders at all.

*  
Steve shivered a little in the chilly night air. It was getting colder. He regretted not pulling on another layer before he’d left the warm innards of the old mine. As he walked, the dry leaves rustling under his boots, he couldn't help but remember the night right after Strange changed his body.

Bucky was easy to find, always somewhere close to the entrance of the cave but never going in by himself. Steve couldn't blame him, not after all the years, centuries he’d probably spent chained underground. And, to be completely honest, Steve did find it fascinating, the dragon's stillness when he stared at the sky, his winter blue eyes with vertical pupils fixed unblinkingly at something Steve couldn't see.

Steve convinced him to wear some more clothes, a brown, soft turtleneck and a similar pair of sweats to the ones Tony had given him when they first met. He even wore sneakers now, though Steve had to keep an eye on him because whenever he was out of sight, Bucky tended to 'forget' them. Steve thought he just didn't like the constriction. Shivering in the cold air, Steve was envious of the fact that Bucky didn't seem to be affected by the elements.

That night, when he had come to get Bucky from above ground, he’d been sick to his stomach with nerves. If Bucky had sensed the magic on him, he didn't let anything show on his face. He never let anything show, didn't communicate or even attempt to. Steve had conflicting feelings about it. On the one hand, he was angry that Bucky didn't even attempt to, but on the other he was terrified of what Bucky might say if he could.

There was a ball of cold tension in Steve’s belly every time he thought about being discovered, about what a being as powerful and brutal as the dragon could do to him, to his world if he were ever unveiled as a liar.

Bucky had followed him down to his quarters as quietly and silently as ever before, an alien presence that became more familiar to Steve than he’d thought possible. Inside his tiny quarters, Bucky hadn’t needed Steve to tell him what to do any more. He’d reached for Steve with warm, sure hands. Divesting himself of clothes, Steve had almost forgotten his changes; even the pulsing pressure in his midsection faded to almost nothing when Bucky carefully kissed him. His kisses were more confident than the first time he’d tried. The initial awkwardness had faded with practice. When Bucky was pushing him down, onto the mattress with blankets protecting him from the autumn chill, Steve had broken their usual pattern and caught Bucky's face in his hands, pulling it so that he could look into those alien eyes. He’d brushed the long hair out of the dragon's face and whispered the words he made a point of never using when trying to teach Bucky the pleasure of simply having sex.

"Granthiss," he’d whispered, throat dry.

Bucky had stilled above him then. The powerful arms had been braced on the bedding beside Steve’s head, muscles tense and unyielding when Steve let his hands rest on them. Bucky’s already gently dilated slit pupils narrowed down to sharp slivers again. Steve couldn’t read his emotions, but the intensity was clear enough.

“Today.” He cleared his throat. “It’s for Granthiss.”

It had been impossible to stand the utterly still look he’d received, and Steve looked away, letting the connection break.

He hadn't wanted to think too much of his own body so he focused on Bucky's. His human flesh looked so healthy, even covered with myriad scars. This close Steve had clearly seen that they looked different. Some very old, faded to almost nothing, some still fresh and pink, just barely healed. He'd remembered the chains and stone spikes piercing Bucky's body the first time he’d seen him. Spells, he guessed. Brutal and cruel, designed to immobilize and to cause pain. Yet Steve had never seen Bucky express pain, not until the mothership bombarded him with cannons that had crushed any and all means of counterattack Earth had been capable of. The way the dragon had roared then - enraged - was the most alive Steve had seen him outside of sex.

Steve had run his hands over the muscular body before, and it was always a thrill. All that power, all the potential for destruction hidden under the utterly human shape - the thought made Steve's pulse race every time. Bucky had already been hard, cock slick. Every time the word Granthiss was invoked, Bucky was always hard. Steve had wondered if that was part of the contract, the spell that bound them together.

Steve had no idea what to feel about his own body, already conditioned that Bucky over him meant sex, meant orgasms, and reacting accordingly. Half-hard even before Bucky touched him, Steve had felt both excited and ashamed. He liked being touched by Bucky. He hadn't liked the fact he was so _easy_ for the dragon.

Bucky had nosed into his neck, his nose as warm as the rest of his body, and Steve was briefly jealous of that before gasping when he felt the first press of teeth against him. Bucky's overly-sharp teeth stung, hurting but not breaking the skin. Unlike the first time, Bucky hadn't gone immediately for penetration. He had taken his time touching Steve, teeth raking Steve's skin and making him shiver, making him hard against the slide of that furnace-hot flesh against his. Along his hardness there had been a second sensation, one that kept throwing him out, a slickness between his legs that shouldn't have been there. A pulsing and warmth that made him want to bear down in ways that were alien to his body, yet just then, felt like instinct.

Steve had to carefully control his breathing not to let the hitch in it show. Bucky, for all his alienness, was always careful with Steve. If nothing else, Steve was convinced that Bucky never intended to cause him any pain. He also hadn't seemed to care or recognize that Steve's body was changed now. His fingers had trailed over Steve's cock, down over his balls and then lower between Steve's legs over the new slick parts of him. But that hadn't caused any new reaction. Bucky touched Steve the same way as he always had. Controlled, careful, not always gentle, but with no intent to harm.

It had been Steve who spread his legs, hooking them over Bucky's. The scars on Bucky's thighs were some of the most pronounced, evidence of repeated trauma to the same places. Steve had known he couldn't trust Bucky to fuck the correct parts of him, not with the way Bucky still seemed completely unaware of human genders. Steve had wrapped his hand around the hard too-slick cock and guided it to his new parts, nudging the head between the wet folds. When Bucky pushed in, entering Steve in ways his body shouldn't have been built for, it pushed Steve's breath out of him. The penetration hadn't been more painful than what he'd been used to, but it was different. 

It sparked a reaction, a tugging, dull kind of pain inside where there should be none. His erection had flagged, arousal fading under the confusing sensations in his body. The feel of hard muscles and soft warm skin brushing over the insides of his thighs was familiar. The labored breath, the scent of fresh snow and sweat - all of those sensations had been familiar, had all but trained his body into associating them with sex.

The new feeling hadn't been bad, per se, but when he compared it to the way they usually had sex, Steve realized he preferred anal penetration much more. Their position, how close Bucky was to him meant that on each thrust, Steve's cock brushed over Bucky’s hard, ridged belly, sending little sparks of pleasure down his spine. Steve was too focused on the large intrusion, the way Bucky's cock slid in and out of him so slickly and so easily, to focus on those sparks of pleasure. His mind had kept wandering off, the new anatomy both a puzzle Steve had wanted to solve, and something he’d never wanted to see too closely. Bucky had been utterly silent, even his quick breath just a rush of air between his lips as he fucked Steve slow and deep. 

Steve had held on to him, feeling more vulnerable and wrong-footed than even the first time they’d done this. He tried to focus on the feel of that powerful scarred body under his hands, the power between his legs. He closed his eyes and twisted enough to bury his face in Bucky's neck, where the scent of winter nights was strongest, pushing his nose into the sweaty skin. He'd cried out, shocked, when somewhere after Bucky's second orgasm, the dragon changed position, pulling away from Steve to wrap his hand around Steve's cock and jerk him off. 

Steve had kept getting hard and softening whenever his mind drifted to thinking too much about his new body parts. Bucky had surprised him then, by how clearly he was set to making Steve come too. At first Steve was sure it wouldn't happen, the feel of Bucky's cock inside him, the slick, almost squelching sound that their bodies made whenever Bucky pushed in almost a turn off. Bucky had been stubborn though, as ruthless in his drive to make Steve come as he was in fucking him for as long as he was physically capable of. 

Steve had no idea how long it took, only that he ached, his body slick with sweat and his chest heaving as if he’d run a marathon. When the orgasm had come it was like nothing he’d ever experienced. It had started at the very base of his cock, spread to his belly, and then his whole body spasmed, the pleasure coiling tighter and lower, somewhere deeper in his body, only to swamp him in wave after wave of pleasure, the pulses coming slower and weaker but oh, so many, until he’d been left panting and exhausted, limbs shivering. 

He had stared at Bucky, surprised and a dizzy when he felt the other sensation. A faint buzzing, something stretching inside him like a rubber band pulled to a breaking point and released with then a snap that had made him flinch and clench down on the cock still inside him. He'd felt the heavy coil of something settling low in his belly.

He's known then that the spell worked.

Bucky's eyes had been all but glowing, energy so intense it stung Steve's skin wherever it was touching Bucky as the dragon stared down at him with pupils blown wide.

He had disengaged then, big palms running over Steve's trembling legs and helping him close them after so long being spread. Bucky had known too, in that strange way he seemed to know way too much, that Steve conceived.

That the contract would be fulfilled.

Ever since, Bucky looked at Steve differently. There was a weight of anticipation to his gaze now. His eyes drifted down from Steve’s face to his midsection, and Steve wondered if maybe Bucky could see the embryo growing inside him? Steve didn't feel anything but the warm heaviness Strange assured him was the spell keeping stable the changes to his body . 

The fact Steve’s body still had the second set of genitals was almost an afterthought in light of the revelation that their insane plan had worked. It irked him that he’d been left behind when the others were scouting the wreckage of the mothership, but Tony and Strange were disturbingly single minded in their their plan to sequester Steve in the mine while he... procreated? grew? He had no idea how to think or feel about the fact that Strange's spell had worked and he was now... pregnant.

In many ways the knowledge didn't compute. They were just words. Nothing _real_. Just abstract terms. But not for Bucky. Steve could feel the bond had changed, could tell Bucky's attention was different now, what had been before an occasional tug between his ribs, was now a firm presence.

He watched as Bucky stood up from the log he was sitting on while staring at the sky to come closer to Steve. It had rained earlier and his hair was wet still, slightly curly and messy as always, his clothes damp. But he showed no signs of discomfort.

Steve licked his lips, wishing desperately that Bucky would just talk to him.

"Can you take me to the wreck?" Steve asked, swallowing down the plea on the tip of his tongue.

The grey eyes fixed on him intently. It was the first time Steve had asked for a thing like that. But the Quinjet was gone and Steve was going insane with boredom. He needed to do something or he would snap.

Objectively he knew Bucky in his dragon form was too large to ever use for transport, was most probably magic through and through, but Steve was feeling brave today. It wouldn't hurt to ask. And knowing people, somebody had to have asked this question before him.

For a second, there and gone, Steve thought he caught anger in the usually unfathomable eyes. He opened his mouth to withdraw his request but it was already too late.

Reality shifted and broke beneath his feet. He was staring at the slit-pupiled eyes even as under and around him an endless see of metallic scales appeared, unfolding out of nothingness to blot out everything, even the sky above.

The enormous body stretched under his feet almost as far as eye could see, three pairs of wings reaching out with liquid metal membranes, churning the air with a deafening noise. In front of him, Steve could see the top of the dragon's head, the long curving horns gleaning in the faint evening light as the rest of the huge body came into existence. It was so large Steve felt as though he were standing during an earthquake rather than riding a creature.

He blinked, and in front of him, on top of the fitted metallic scales a glowing red pattern appeared. It wasn't bigger than his hand at first, thickly packed with glowing glyphs. As Steve watched it started growing, stretching sideways. The red lines looked like wounds, like bleeding slashes as they wormed their way between the scales. Steve could feel unease building in his chest, a vaguely ominous feeling at the red spilling over the dragon's huge neck like a barbed collar. As the pattern grew to span the whole of the huge neck, the light intensified and Steve watched, horrified as it sank between the scales, forcing them apart, causing small rivulets of silvery-metallic blood - oh god it was blood - to trail from what indeed appeared to be a _collar_. 

In the middle of it all was the small mark where it began, now glowing so fiercely it hurt to look at, but Steve was helpless, couldn't stop watching, as the light changed and reshaped itself into a long glowing red spike that looked disturbingly physical. As he watched, the spell - because it was a spell - drove itself down into the flesh no longer protected by the scales that had been ripped off, and deep into the flesh of the dragon's back. The dragon roared, angry and pained, but the sound was cut short as the spell anchored itself. Steve was sick, sure he was going to throw up any second. He had no idea how, but he knew the spike was anchored right in Bucky's spine.

He’d done this. It had been his words that had caused this. He’d made a wish and the dragon had to obey.

When Steve's body moved, not of his own volition, both arms reaching for the end of the spike in front of him, he could taste the salt of his tears on his lips.

His hands closed over the warm, faintly pulsing spike and a latticework of red light formed a protective shield around him. Gone was the chill of the late autumn day, gone was the faint drizzle of rain - the shield kept all of it away as all six wings beat air at the same time, and the long body launched itself into the air with Steve not even feeling the drag.

As the Earth beneath them turned into a blotch of colors, and the still-burning wreck far on the horizon came closer Steve could only stare at his hands wrapped around the device of torture that only a twisted mind could have come up with. One of his ancestors had to have done this, created this wretched spell to ride Bucky's dragon form just like Steve was.

Faintly he thought he was going to be sick after all, his stomach rolling and a cold sweat ghosting over his skin.

But he didn't.

When Steve felt the dragon fall through the air, preparing to land, the weightless sensation in his stomach wasn't the gravity but unconsciousness sweeping over him.

He never felt the landing at all.

*

The world swam around Steve. He hurt. Oh god, did he _hurt_ ; a horrifying all encompassing pain that radiated out of his pelvic cradle. It crawled up his spine and pulsed outward towards all of his limbs. He could feel the tiny life inside of him, how it moved, how its heart fluttered fast as a hummingbird. The sound was almost audible, a strange counterpoint to his own straining heartbeat.

Steve shouldn’t be able to feel it like that. It was too soon. It’d only been two weeks. It shouldn’t be big enough to feel. Fear and horror clawed at his mind. It was growing too fast. His breaths came out in short pants as he tried to breathe through the pain. He was so, so tired.

An pitiful moan slipped past his lips, and a hand tightened around his. Steve could smell the grease and oil, could feel the unusual calluses on it. Tony.

There were voices around him, difficult to focus on, but Steve tried. Anything to take his mind off the strange squirming in his lower abdomen, the painful writhing of something Not Him growing inside.

“…you help?” It was Strange, sounding more stressed and frustrated than Steve expected from the aloof doctor. He managed to pry his eyes open for a moment, trying to take in what was going on. They were in his room, Strange standing over him, Tony beside him. In the corner Steve’s blurred vision caught a glimpse of Bucky’s outline along the wall. Strange appeared to be pleading with the dragon. 

“What I did for him was experimental magic at best. Since the embryo scans as completely human, I can only assume you must have changed yourself to ensure your body’s compatibility. The fact this is happening to Steve right now is because, for whatever reason, the embryo has recognized the spells I’ve used to change Steve, and the pregnancy is not running the normal track. At this rate, Steve will die within an hour. His body won't survive that kind of drain. And since the child is part of him now, I’m unable to affect the drain without killing either one or the other.”

Steve tried to open his mouth, say anything, but he hadn’t the strength. He could hear them, but talking seemed to be beyond his ability. The best he could do was whimper. Tony’s hand tightened on his and he felt the soft brush of a thumb over his knuckles. Steve didn’t expect it to be as soothing as it was, knowing that he had a friend there with him. 

Steve wanted to tell Strange not to attempt anything that might harm the child. Steve still wasn’t sure how he felt about being a parent, did his best not to think about being pregnant at all. Steve was just an enhanced human, the dragon was capable of destroying motherships. They couldn’t afford to make an enemy of him. A prickle of tears formed at the corners of his eyes; he blinked and shook his head in an ineffectual effort to keep his vision clear. He suppressed another full body shudder as the squirming inside of him writhed up against his organs. It felt bigger. How was that even possible?

“I know you understand much more than anybody here expects. You’re too old to be as naive as you play at.” Strange’s voice was shrewd, the arrogant thread that always rubbed Steve the wrong way present and accounted for. “You must understand at least some of what I’m telling you right now.”

Steve wished he could see Bucky’s face. The dragon could convey emotions in a way understandable to Steve if he wanted to, or maybe Steve had just got better at reading him. As good as Tony’s hand felt in his, Steve wished it was Bucky’s. The thought was strange, especially given Bucky’s taciturn nature. 

A twisted laugh nearly escaped Steve’s throat, but just turned into a sob of pain. He remembered stories from his ma about how sentimental and moody pregnancy could make new mothers. He wondered if something about the change in his temporary body chemistry was having that effect on him, or if it was just the pain making him long for his unlikely lover’s support. Bucky wasn’t human no matter how he looked right now. It wouldn’t do for Steve to forget that.

“Damn it.” The magician sounded angry now. “Just look.”

There was more light and more of that tingly, dizzy feeling that Steve had come to associate with Dr. Strange doing magic on him. Blindingly beautiful patterns floated above him searing neon colors, growing and spinning in the air. Steve flinched against the sight of them; their brightness burned into his eyes and made his stomach churn. 

Another shatteringly powerful cramp made his whole body clench. He tried to arch up, curl so to relieve some of the pressure, give his muscles a break, but the best he could do was list to his side and sob. The world faded out around him, his already-blurry eyesight narrowed down and and then went dark.

*

The pain woke him up again. For a fleeting moment, Steve was reminded of Project Rebirth; the light and the pain and the inability to move under the strain of it all. Even the near-electric charge of agony in his bones was familiar. Only this time the breath had already been punched out of him. Every muscle was clenched so tightly that he couldn’t even scream. The Not-Him that was growing inside was bigger still, he could feel it moving. It was too fast, too much, too soon. He couldn’t stand the rapid changes, the sensations swamping him without rhyme or reason. He wanted it all to stop for a moment, wanted time to think, to just breathe.

“... can’t do it.” Strange, still sounded tense, tired even. “Wait, what are you doing? That’s…” Steve could smell blood. Sharp and coppery. Under that he could smell the clean scent of winter nights, frost in the air.

“Oh that’s disgusting.” Tony was speaking now, the revulsion in his voice a physical force. Another deep body-wide cramp shuddered through Steve, forcing a small whine out of him. He could feel the wetness at his temples. He must have been crying without even knowing it. The life inside of him pushed around, shoving at his organs, stretching up inside of his chest cavity and pressing down on his pelvic bone, then it _shifted_ , turning on it’s side inside of him.

“Huh.” Strange now sounded surprised and maybe a little impressed. Steve really didn't want to know what would make the magician sound so interested. All he wanted to do was rest. Exhaustion dogged him and the pain ate away at his ability to think.

The smell of blood was stronger in the air now, with something acrid under that, stinging his nose, the back of his throat. For a brief moment he panicked, afraid that the fetus inside of him had somehow broken through his skin and he was bleeding out onto the bed. Steve already felt enough pain, he couldn’t tell where the jabbing on his insides ended and where his ripping overstretched skin began. But the blood didn’t quite smell right, and the cramping in his gut actually began to ease a little.

His only solace was the thought that the little being inside of him was at least growing, thriving, even if it was doing so at the cost of Steve’s life. He could fulfill their deal. He would do it, and then there would be a little version of himself and Bucky living and growing in the world. 

The tension in Steve’s body lessened and a sense of warmth slowly spread through him, making him want to sleep. Almost against his will, his body began to relax and he slipped back into unconsciousness. 

 

*

Everything was soft and warm and fuzzy around him. Steve couldn’t actually feel what was happening anymore. The world seemed to be going by a lazy distance from wherever he was resting. There was the vague sensation of something large inside of him, a ever-growing bulge that distended his stomach under his hand. But he could also faintly feel the tight clench of Tony’s fingers around his free hand. 

Whatever was happening was going much smoother than it had before. A tiny piece of Steve’s brain wondered if that was a good thing for him, or if his body had just stopped being able to cope with the trauma it was going through. Either way, he couldn’t muster up the energy to care. 

“I’m going to be sick,” Tony said again, but he sounded more afraid than disgusted now. The stench of burning human flesh and blood was all but choking Steve, so thick he could taste it. He felt good though, warm and relaxed in a way that frankly, he couldn’t remember ever having felt before. “Do you need painkillers? Would they even work for you?”

Steve drifted away under a tidal wave of soothing heat.

*

The pressure inside Steve was building, nudging him awake again. He felt so _full_ , enormous, and squashed. Again his breaths came out in tiny gasps, but this time because he just didn’t have the space to breathe. Was this asthma all over again? But with the pressure on his lungs came from underneath them rather than around. Still, the overwhelming warmth chased away the pain and panic from earlier. He breathed shallowly and shifted a little in an attempt to get more comfortable under the distended weight of his torso.

“I’m not sure we should continue.” Strange again. He sounded discomfited, worried even.

“Steve’s not safe yet,” Tony objected, but he too sounded ill at ease.

“I’m not sure Steve would accept us continuing,” Strange said quietly. “What he is doing… I think it’s permanent for him.”

Sleepily, Steve wished he knew what was going on, who they were talking about. But he couldn’t extrapolate just from what he’d heard Dr. Strange or Tony say, and Bucky was completely silent as usual. It would be far too much work to open his eyes and see what was going on. Even though he seemed to float on a sea of tingling warmth, exhaustion continued to drag at him.

“I think he would want the child to survive,” Tony said, his fingers tight around Steve’s hand.

“It’s almost done,” Strange said, sounding tired and strained. Worried.

“Pulling energy?” Tony asked hopefully.

“No,” Strange denied. “Growing.”

A tidal wave of heat and numbness pulled Steve under again, sending him blissfully into unconsciousness. 

\--

Slowly but surely, the world faded back in. Steve couldn’t move, couldn’t even open his eyes. He felt utterly drained. Hollowed out like an old tree. Everything was warm around him. Something soft and heavy draped over him. _Blankets_ , he thought. The hook just under his breastbone that he’d become so used to feeling was now all the more noticeable in its absence.

Some kind of quiet activity was going on nearby on the floor; the quiet tap-tap of little bits of plastic hitting each other. Every so often the noise was punctuated by a high pitched coo or giggle. 

He took a deep breath and tried to turn his head towards the sound. That small effort alone exhausted him. Steve might have drifted back to sleep for a moment or two after that, but he couldn’t really be sure. The quiet noises continued and his curiosity grew. Eventually he was able to pry open his gritty, sticky eyelids. 

On the floor next to his mattress was a young boy. Tiny, but not a newborn by any means. Steve had a hard time properly gaging the age. He looked maybe a year and a half, maybe two years old at the most. The boy sat upright, legs folded together in front of him, and a few mismatched plastic building blocks in his little, clever hands. Pale gold hair crowned his head, falling in front of his face as he studiously interlocked the blocks together. Every once in awhile he would pause, pull them apart, and then put them back together in a different way. A quiet stream of baby babble accompanied his actions.

Behind the boy sat Bucky, dressed in loose pants and a t-shirt. He held a block of his own in one hand, ready to pass it over to the child in front of him. 

The other hand...the other hand was _gone_. The whole _arm_ was gone! Steve couldn’t stop the near-silent exhalation of distress. What had happened? 

When Steve raised his eyes to Bucky’s face he found the dragon already looking at him, still quiet as ever. But Bucky’s gaze held nothing but happiness and warmth, clearly visible even under the strangeness of the slit-pupiled eyes. The coldness seemed to be utterly gone.

It was just about then that the child looked up at Bucky, clearly noticing that Bucky’s attention had shifted. He followed Bucky’s line of sight to look fully at Steve. 

His eyes… His eyes were just like Bucky’s; ice blue with vertical pupils, alien in such a human form. This was their child. Oh god, _this was their child_. 

As soon as the child saw that Steve was awake, he squealed with glee and crawled over to fall across Steve’s chest, giggling like mad when he landed. Steve dredged up a tiny iota of energy from who-knew-where and managed a wobbly smile. His son. This was his son. He had no idea how, or why, but _this was his son_. The little boy wiggled back and forth, babbling happily. His tiny little hands, holy hell they were so small and perfect, grabbed tightly onto Steve’s blankets. When the boy looked at him it was as if pure joy had found a tiny container to shine out of. Every part of his body, from his wide toothy smile to his bunched up cheeks to his bouncing feet, every single part exuded happiness. A jubilation so complete that Steve couldn’t even remember ever having a feeling that all encompassing. 

And all that joy was directed at him, like he was the best thing in the whole world. 

Steve was both humbled and awed. He looked up at Bucky and saw that he’d moved closer to the bed, kneeling just within reach of Steve and the child. 

Steve had a million questions - how long had he been asleep? It didn’t feel like very long, no more than a couple of days, surely. What had happened to Bucky’s arm? Was Bucky in any pain? How had their child gotten so large? What else had he missed? 

Some of that must have been visible on Steve’s face because he could feel the distinct air of amusement rolling off of Bucky. 

The little boy noticed their interaction and tugged a little harder at Steve’s blanket and banged his forehead on Steve’s chest. “Mmmmba baba ba ba ba. Ba ba ba ba!”

Steve managed to get a hand on the child’s head. “Hey there,” he said, though he was so quiet that they hardly qualified as words. His smile stretched even wider, hurting his cheeks and making him swallow roughly. “How’s my boy? Our boy.” A quick glance to Bucky proved that the dragon wasn’t offended with the self correction. If anything, Bucky seemed more pleased and amused. 

Bucky trailed his hand through Steve’s hair, and Steve leaned into the action, even if it was surprising for the dragon to touch him without clear invitation. Whatever else had happened, they were all here; happy and alive. For a long time, that was more than he’d dared hope for. Overarching that was Steve’s relief in the knowledge that he’d fulfilled his part of the bargain. He had provided Bucky with a child. There was no longer any fear that the dragon would destroy their world if he discovered Steve’s deception. No longer a deception. Truth, now.

He looked down at the little boy on top of his chest and smiled again, feeling stunned and a little like this was all a dream, a feverish wish. Steve had never been so lucky. A strangely amazing little boy, strange only in the sense that Steve was surprised by how affected he was by that giggling smile. 

“I wish you could tell me what happened,” Steve sighed, running his fingers through the fine hair of his child.

“The human’s magic fooled him into thinking you had larger stores of energy than a human being has,” Bucky said unexpectedly, his voice hoarse and rough, motioning at the child in Steve’s lap, “and he was draining you at a level not sustainable for your body.” Bucky continued his explanation as if unaware of Steve staring at him dumbfounded, stunned at hearing Bucky speak at all. The child ignored their conversation, instead continuing his own quiet baby babble.

“You can talk?” Steve blurted out. It was true that Bucky had spoken to him twice before: once using the word ‘Granthiss’, and once saying his name at Steve’s request, but never any other time. Just those two words and no sounds before or after. Even when having sex, Bucky had been silent.

The strange grey eyes flicked from him to the child on his chest and back again. The little boy bounced up and down on his toes, clinging to Steve the whole time. “Babababa! Loodee lowdee lowdee,” he said to Steve with perfect confidence. 

“The magician took off the spell forbidding me communicating with you.”

“Spell?” Steve repeated dumbly, mind full of theories of who and how but mostly of the utter cruelty of it. 

When he’d met Bucky he’d been chained in the dark for a very long time, pinned to the rock with spells that had pierced his body like weapons. Not only had he endured the pain and loneliness of waiting for another woman of Steve’s line to walk down those steps, but he’d also sustained the complete inability to communicate. Not talk. Communicate in any shape or form. It made… too much sense once Steve thought about it, and he was angry at himself for not catching on earlier. A being as intelligent as Bucky had to have had the ability to communicate, and smarts enough to figure things out, if only by observation. Steve had been so focused on how dangerous Bucky could be, he didn’t stop to think how much he must have suffered.

The dragon nodded, shifting to sit more comfortably at Steve’s bedside. Steve was again taken aback at the lack of an arm under the short sleeve of the tee shirt.

Noticing that he didn’t have Steve’s full attention, the child started to bang his forehead onto Steve’s chest, giving a happy, “wooo!” between each hit. They weren’t heavy blows, and clearly the child was unaffected by them, but even still, they kind of hurt. Steve winced a little at the impact and his attention shifted as he tried to discern how to handle this situation. 

Bucky turned his attention to the wiggling child and put his hand under the boy’s chin, making him look at him. Steve watched as his pupils dilated rapidly from thin slits into lazy ovals. The child stilled, body going lax on top of Steve. They stared at each other, father and child for long seconds. The boy’s pupils dilated slowly to match Bucky’s. They didn’t move, didn’t speak, yet Steve was sure they were communicating on a level he was unaware of.

The stillness dropped away from the boy as soon as it started. He yawned widely and blinked, his pupils going back to it’s sharply slitted usual. Then he lowered his head, rested in on Steve’s chest, squirmed a bit to get comfortable, exhaled once and was asleep between one heartbeat and the next.

“You did that?” Steve asked, feeling a strange spike of worry in his chest.

Bucky nodded.

“He’s not yet independent from my essence.”

Steve shifted the boy gingerly, afraid of waking him, but the child merely snuffled in its sleep and allowed himself to be tucked beside Steve instead of on top of him. He curled his arm around the boy’s body, feeling bizarrely protective.

He tried to remember the feverish dreams, the little moments, and what he thought were hallucinations of Strange and Tony beside him as his body changed beyond his ability to understand.

“You were there,” he murmured. “I remember you.”

Bucky nodded.

“The magician showed me the spell and what was happening in your body, how my child was draining you.”

“You helped,” Steve murmured, remembering vaguely the insistent tone Strange had used when talking to Bucky. “You did something.”

Bucky nodded again. He still looked happy, relaxed, even sitting there half-dressed and missing a whole arm. Steve remembered that fateful night when he’d asked Bucky to bring him to the wreckage, the spike anchored deep into Bucky’s spine. Steve couldn't believe how much pain, how much suffering and outright damage he’d brought to this man who now sat beside him so calmly. So much pain, so easily forgiven. It made Steve’s chest hurt, made him shake a little. He had no idea how to feel. He wasn't sure he was worth all that.

“Granthiss needed energy, but it was still bound to human form, so it had to be a human kind of energy.”

Steve’s eyes tracked to the way the sleeve hung loosely where a powerful shoulder used to be; the strong curve of bone and thick deltoid now completely gone. Steve couldn’t stop staring at it, a sense of horror growing steadily in his belly as the scattered memories started to make sense.

“Your arm…”

Bucky’s alien eyes fixed on him, calm and relaxed still. Even though his eyes were the same alien grey with slitted pupils, they were so much easier to read now.

“This body is the only part of me that’s compatible with humans,” Bucky said simply, with no regret, no anger in his voice or features. Steve couldn’t wrap his head around such perfect acceptance.

“Was the pregnancy in danger?” Steve asked. It was a moot point now, the boy was healthy and alive, and so was Steve. But something inside him needed to know, needed to understand just what had happened. 

Bucky didn’t turn his eyes away, as unafraid as always.

“No. If Granthniss had drained your life completely, he would still have survived.”

"But I wouldn't have," Steve murmured staring at the severed arm. The child would have been okay. Bucky need not have sacrificed his arm for it to survive.

Bucky had chosen to, regardless.

“Can you heal it? What happens if you change back into your dragon form?” Steve asked, feeling thrown aback, a bitter coil of guilt in his belly.

“The loss in human form is permanent,” Bucky’s words were calm but finite. There was no doubt in them at all. “I only had a limited amount of energy I could mold to match with yours. There won't be any more.”

Steve swallowed, feeling horrified and sick at the realisation that it was his actions that ultimately led to Bucky’s mutilation.

“I’m so sorry. I…”

Bucky tilted his head, clearly not understanding the horror painted across Steve’s face.

“If I hadn’t fed the spell, you would have died.”

Steve swallowed his protest. Bucky clearly didn’t see this development the same way Steve did, and there was so much to take in that Steve decided to retreat for now to fight this particular battle another day.

Suddenly, something Bucky said struck him. Granthiss. He’d called the child Granthiss but that wasn’t possible. He’d said the same word when they’d agreed the contract, and when they’d had sex. Steve was sure it meant contract. But… could it be possible he was wrong?

“Granthiss?” he repeated, struggling with the strange composition of letters. Bucky nodded, looking pleased. “What does that mean? This word?”

Bucky furrowed his brow a little, looking confused by the question. He extended his only hand towards the boy and rubbed the fine blond hair. 

“He is my Granthiss.”

It was Steve’s turn to furrow his brow.

“Child?”

Bucky shook his head.

“Your definition is too narrow,” Bucky said after a beat. “He is my legacy, my counterpart, and when he grows strong enough, he shall leave to settle in a new universe, connecting this one to his own, the way all my Granthiss have.”

Steve wiggled carefully away from the sleeping child in order to sit up and lean closer to Bucky. Sitting upright was a challenge, not only because he felt weak as hell, but also because of the child’s awkward bulk against him. Steve had a moment of dizzying astonishment that a whole child, a _whole being_ , had been inside of him. Careful not to wake up the little boy, he gently moved the child further onto some extra blankets so that Steve wouldn’t accidentally disturb him by randomly moving.

“Other… there are more?”

Bucky nodded.

“Your bloodline was changed because of generation after generation of your predecessors drinking my blood in contract.” 

_Generations_.

It was so hard to remember that Bucky was hundreds if not thousands of years old when he sat here looking like a human thirty-year-old male. A small part of Steve had wondered if the reason Erskine’s serum had worked so damn well on him was the result of the dragon blood changing his bloodline, the reason why Strange had been so surprised the spell had taken so fast to Steve. 

“What’s going to happen now?” Steve asked, terrified suddenly of Bucky leaving and taking the boy with him. Even though they’d not long ago met, even though it was the first time he’d talked to Bucky, Steve couldn’t imagine just letting them go.

This was the first time Bucky looked unsure, some of the contentment fading from his face.

“There are none of the sin eater line anymore.” He looked down at the sleeping boy and then back at Steve, regret reflected in his face. “You are the last, and the contract is now done.”

The contract, the whole reason Steve had gone through the insanity of the spell Tony and Strange had come up with. The fear of what might happen if Bucky realised Steve had lied when signing the contract.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t kept my part of the bargain?” Steve asked very quietly. It was a moot point now, but he needed to know.

Bucky’s alien eyes became unreadable again, hiding his thoughts from Steve.

“The contract is unbreakable,” he said, not answering Steve’s question.

Steve shook his head, impatient.

“I’m a male. I’m physically incapable of getting pregnant,” he said out loud, firmer, willing to push the issue now that there was no longer any threat of retribution.

Bucky reached his arm out to him, skating just the tips of his fingers over Steve’s face in a curiously odd gesture.

“The contract is unbreakable,” he repeated, “for either of us.”

“But,” Steve took a breath to insist, but Bucky shook his head again, the ends of his long hair flying about his face.

“The contract is absolute.” There was enough steel in Bucky’s voice that Steve felt a shiver run down his back. He didn’t like calling things fate, hated thinking there was a plan for him, or a force that directed his life. The absolute confidence in Bucky’s voice was unpleasant, filling him with doubts and fears he’d not let himself feel before.

“What are you going to do now that there’s no contract binding you?” Steve risked touching Bucky and caught the hand still hovering close to his face. In the back of his mind, a new fear arose. The boy. His child. He couldn’t watch him leave, couldn't let it happen no matter how unsure he felt about the whole parent thing.

“There is nowhere for me to go anymore,” Bucky said simply, as sure of that as anything else he’d said till now.

“Then stay,” Steve said, fierce emotion curling up low in his chest. “Stay with me.”

Bucky’s eyes warmed, the sharp slits of his pupils flicking rapidly over Steve’s face. His hand was very warm in Steve’s grip.

“Once the contract is finished, it cannot be repeated,” Bucky said, but his tone was more confused than rejecting, as if he didn’t understand what Steve was asking for.

Steve’s heart was pounding and his throat was tight, lips trembling with nerves as he tried again.

“Not a contract. Stay for companionship.” He leaned closer and brushed his lips over Bucky’s, feeling how soft and warm they were. “For pleasure.”

When he pulled back, he found Bucky looking at him with curiously soft eyes.

“You were the first to touch me with such intent.” Bucky admitted what Steve already suspected.

“So? Will you stay?” Steve asked, again holding on tighter to the hand in his grip. “I want you to,” he insisted.

There was a tiny smile, no more than a corner of his mouth curling up on Bucky’s face, and his eyes softened even more.

“I think I would like that,”

Steve took a deep breath and briefly reflected on his future. He didn’t know what would happen to him or the entire human race. Would they defeat the Rinarks now that the invaders had suffered such heavy losses? Would Bucky fight on their side or refuse to fight altogether? Steve had no idea, and there were a million and one things that could go wrong, but in that moment he didn’t care.

He had wonderful friends, closer than family to him, but none of them touched him the way Bucky did. None of them had given him a child.

“I’m glad.” He smiled in response, speaking the god’s honest truth.

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> At one point Steve’s body is changed by a spell to also include the female genitals, and there is one not-too-explicit scene where Steve has vaginal penetrative sex.
> 
> Come and visit us on Tumblr  
> [xantissa](http://xantissa.tumblr.com)


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